


(i'll always value) Your Life Over Mine

by Marianne_Dashwood



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Asexual Character, Bisexual Female Character, Bisexual Male Character, Canon-Typical Violence, Canonical Character Death, Childhood Friends, Childhood Sweethearts, Declarations Of Love, Developing Relationship, F/F, F/M, Families of Choice, Female Protagonist, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Long-Distance Relationship, M/M, Multi, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, POV Second Person, Panic Attacks, Pansexual Character, Platonic Cuddling, Platonic Female/Male Relationships, Polyamory, Psychological Torture, Reader-Insert, Relationship Negotiation, Second Chances, Secret Crush, Self-Insert, Sharing a Bed, Slow Burn, Team as Family, Torture, Weapons, mentions of cheating, reader identifies as female, tho it isn't serious i'd thought i'd make it clear
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-15
Updated: 2017-05-03
Packaged: 2018-09-22 07:50:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 10
Words: 43,378
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9593603
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Marianne_Dashwood/pseuds/Marianne_Dashwood
Summary: You were born as a noble in Tenebrae, selected at a young age to be a companion to to the Lady Lunafreya. When the country was attacked when you were ten years of age, Luna ensured that the fleeing Lucian King took you along while remaining behind herself. Growing up in the Crown City, you mended broken friendships and made new ones, all the while habouring a crush on Luna herself. When you set out to accompany your best friend to his wedding to the love of your life, you unexpectedly find yourself falling for another certain blonde, all while your family finds itself on a quest to save the world.This was not how you imagined this bachelor's road trip to go.





	1. (look at where we've been) Through Time

**Author's Note:**

> Hi! So I'm back with a new fic, with a fandom that has destroyed me. This fic will very much be a labour of love, and one that is very personal. 
> 
> Just as a note, the reader is not me, though she is very much based on myself. For example, those with whom she will end up in a relationship with is who I want to be with, but this reader has a whole back story within the universe which I have worked very hard on, and is very much her own character. 
> 
> I have the first five chapters pre-written, and I am hoping to update on a weekly basis, and kick off as soon as possible into the real story. This is the first time since I was 13 that I have attempted a multi-chaptered fic, and I hope this will be a lot better than that one was. 
> 
> Title and chapter title comes from Bry's song 'Your Life Over Mine'

 “Duck!” you scream, as you push Prompto out of the way of the beast's claws that surely would have impaled him. They rake down your front, the cuts shallow but momentarily deliberating just the same. You stagger back, and manage to regain your footing and composure in time to watch Noctis land a strike directly across the beast's throat. It gives one final roar before thudding to the ground, and lying motionless.

You put a hand to your front, and your fingers come away red. Your shirt is ripped, and you sigh a little. You liked that shirt.

“Is everyone alright?” Ignis asks, coming over to inspect the wound. You feel a little dizzy, and your chest aches, but mostly you’re irritated at being the only one seriously wounded.

“I’ll be fine.” You reply, and take Prompto’s offered hand to pull yourself to your feet, using it to steady yourself as your body gets to work healing the shallow wound.

“Good.” Noctis says, voice clipped, and turns back towards the car. You and the others glance at each other, noting your Prince’s sullen mood. Perhaps he was simply thinking about the wedding. It had only been a day since you had set off towards his upcoming nuptials, and already the car had broken down, the party had run out of money and you had sustained an injury. Great start. Perhaps that is the reason for his odd mood.

Ignis’s body language agrees with your prince's, as he too begins to walk away, after a final glance at your injuries. You wrap your jacket, or rather, the jacket, you borrowed from Noctis, around your chest, ensuring it covers up your ripped shirt. You can’t help but feel a little upset that he didn’t offer to help, but then he does have a lot on his mind. He doesn’t need your moaning on top of that.

“Can you grab my axe?” You ask as you begin to make your way towards the car. Gladio obliges, handing it to you so you can sheath it away for your next encounter. As you do so, you pat the seath attached to your belt that hides your hatchet, to ensure that your backup weapon is still there. After all this time, you don’t quite trust Noctis’ ability to pull weapon’s simply out of thin air, and always keep a more physical version with you. Even if it does dig into your back.

“You saved my life. Thanks.” Prompto says.

“No problem.” You smile at him, one arm slung around his shoulders as he supports your pace.  “That’s what friends do, right?”

“What’s that old saying?” Gladio asks. “Friends die for each other. Best friends die _together_.”

Ignis sighs, and rubs his eyes with one hand. “Don’t go saying that in front of Noctis, he’ll start getting ideas.”

“He already has far too many ideas.” You say, nodding in agreement with a slight smile on your face.

“And a lot of them involve getting us into dangerous situations that end up with use nearly being killed.” Gladio adds, eyeing the front of your chest. You glare at him, stick your tongue out, try to walk forward and promptly stumble on a piece of ground.

You hear Prompto’s and Gladio’s chuckles, and even Ignis’s small snort of amusement.

“I hate all of you.” You say. “It’s blood loss!” 

“You’ve hardly lost any blood, that wound is superficial.” Ignis says, turning his back on you, and walking over to the car where Noctis already awaits.

Gladio shrugs at you, and you elbow him upon seeing the look on his face.

“Shut up.” You grumble. “I’m gonna have to push one of you over in revenge.”

Prompto clutches at his chest in mock horror as the pair of you follow after the others.

“But you just saved my life!”

“Maybe I should just leave and find another group of friends.” You tease.

“But then what would we do without you?” He asks, and his teasing smile shifts into something more genuine as you reach the car, the other three already having taken up their places inside the vehicle.

“Eh” You shrug, sliding carefully into the backseat. “Crash and burn probably. Sometimes it feels like I’m the only one keeping you boys safe.”

You grin, to let them know you’re joking, ignoring Gladio’s indignant “Hey!” from the front of the car.

Ignis passes you a roll of bandages from the front seat. Your wounds are too superficial to need disinfecting, but deep enough that they might leave three claw shaped scars on your chest. Badass.

“Here.” Prompto offers, holding the bandages in one hand, while you slowly peel off the remains of your shirt to get too the slashes. The boys around you avert their eyes to the passing roadside, though nothing particularly appealing is on show, especially after you use the ragged remains of the shirt to wipe away the blood and wrap the wounds in bandages. After all of that, you look less badass than you hoped, and more like a half-arsed halloween costume. Pulling on Noct’s jacket again, and hoping that you would stop soon so that you could get an actual shirt on, you lean against Prompto and try to nap.

On your right hand side, Noct is gazing in the direction of Altissia. Again.

Sighing, you pull yourself up. Prompto takes that as his cue to start to shift into a more comfortable position, and begins to try and fiddle with the radio.

You know what he’s thinking about. More often than not, the same worries and concerns have occupied your own thoughts.

“I know you’re worried about her.” You say, quietly enough so that Prompto, who is now deep in an argument with Gladio over the music, won’t be able to hear.

“I’m worried about her too.”

You grew up with her. Of course you are worried about her.

 

_“Run!” Luna shouted at you, gripping your hand tightly. The attack had been horrifically sudden, and you didn’t want to think about what you had just seen. Your axe, small in your mother’s hands but so much bigger in yours, was still in your belt, unused, and useless against the might of the soldiers pouring in._

_You were supposed to protect Luna. That was your job, no, your honour. You family had been chosen by the royal family to protect the young princess, and you were the one that had been sent to live at the royal palace, to be raised alongside Lunafreya as her Companion, even though she was a couple of years older than you. Barely a few years into your job, and you were already firm friends with the princess. She was serious and dedicated to her future role as Oracle, but she was still a child. You were there to ensure she still learnt the art of being human too._

_It was this difference in age that you struggled with now. Luna, taller, superior to your small ten year old frame in every respect, was dragging you behind her as she too struggled to keep pace with the king._

_The King. The visiting royal family of Lucis, and the ones which you already knew were at least partly responsible for the attack. The Prince, younger than you, sickly and distant to all except your charge, clung to his father, burying his face in the King’s shoulder._

_Their farewell party in the gardens of Tenebrae had been the first royal event that you had been allowed to attend in your official capacity as Princess Lunafreya’s companion. You had been dressed by your mother this morning, her quick fingers making light work of the fancy buttons that has bemused you, twisting your hair into a traditional braid that she herself mirrored. It was functional and beautiful, much like the rest of the Queensguard of Tenebrae._

_She had looked so proud, the sight of you flanking Lunafreya as she wheeled in the Prince, who was smiling, a rare occurrence for him. Luna had done that._

_Now, your mother’s fingers were still, blood damp and sticky on them as she crumpled to the floor behind you, the sword of an MT soldier through her chest. As she fell, you could see the shocked and terrified figure of Ravus, clutching at his arm, blood seeping through the tear in his dress shirt._

_“King Regis!” His voice echoed over the sounds of shouting and screaming, far too young, and more scared than you had ever heard him. “Help us! Please!”_

_You wanted him to stop, to turn back. You wanted to see if your mother was still alive. You wanted to protect your country._

_The King did not stop. He kept running, pulling you and Luna along in his wake, as the soldiers begin to give chase._

_Luna’s hand was tight in your grip, the only real thing to you in that moment as you gasped for breath, too shocked and stumbling to cry. Luna. That was all that mattered. As long as she was safe, so were you._

_You heard Luna’s voice, quiet; a murmured apology. Then, suddenly and with no warning, she shoved you forward, pulling her hand out of the King’s grip, and pushing you forward within range of his grasping hand._

_“Go!” She shouts, and stops running. The King, shocked at the loss of grip, grabs a hold of your wrist instead, even as you strain to get away from him._

_“No!” You cry out. “Luna! LUNA!”_

_You can hear your own pleas echoed by the Prince, but they go ignored._

No. _Every step seems to say_ I will not let another child die because of me.

_Every second drags you further away from Luna._

_“I’ll find you!” You shout, hoping she can still hear you. “I promise you I'll find you!”_

_You can only watch as the soldiers pursuing you overtake Luna, swarming around her, and still she is smiling, a small sad smile, until she entirely disappears from view._

 

The Regalia is cramped with the five of you, but at least the top is open. You like the Regalia, sure, but only when the hood is off. When it’s down and raining, it reminds you far too much of that long, desperate drive back from Tenebrae when you were ten.

The King had shoved you and Noctis into the car and told you the driver to go. He himself had sat in the front seat, and had the ghost of a weapon in his hand, his eyes constantly scanning the horizon. 

It had been when you had turned around and saw the city in flames that you had started to scream.

Noctis himself was also crying, in the quiet, fearful way of a child who doesn’t quite understand what was going on. You, on the other hand, wept loudly and persistently.

“Take me back!” You cry. “Take me back!”

Eventually, you cry yourself to exhaustion. It seemed to you that you had cried all the way to Lucian territory, but tantrums always seem longer when you are the one having them.

The King quietly comforts his son, offering soft reassurances, turning around in his seat often to hold his hand or try to rub his shoulder. He tries to do the same to you, but you move away out of his reach.

The tears subside eventually, both yours and the young Prince’s. He, exhausted and a child, fell asleep soon after, hiccupping occasionally with suppressed sobs. You, on the other hand, ignore how your tears burned your eyes, and stared out of the window, watching your home recede into the distance behind you.

“Your majesty, the girl-” The driver speaks, as soon as they crossed into Lucian territory.

“Leave it.” The King replies. “When we arrive, I want you to deliver her and the Prince to the palace. Ensure they are safely delivered to their rooms. I need to speak to the council immediately. Assemble them in the chamber before I arrive.”

The driver nods, and pulled out his communicator, relaying the King’s instructions to the awaiting guards.

It is dawn by the time you arrived at Insomnia; it seemed to you that it was ironic, compared to your night of sleeplessness.

The palace is imposing, and the streets quiet as you approached. When you pull up against the seemingly endless stairs, the King exits the car, opens the door, and with gentleness that you did not expect, rouses Noctis, and lifts him out of the car. You had only ever seen him drag, cling, clench with violence and desperation. As you watch him tenderly hand the sleepy Noctis to a waiting maid servant, you become angry. Where was that tenderness, that compassion earlier that day? Where was it when your family was slaughtered and your country burned?

You pull back into the car when he reaches for you.

“You’ll be safe here.” He reassures you, hand out “I promise. They can’t hurt you here.”

You glare at him, chin out defiantly.

“They aren’t the ones who abandoned my family.” You say, accusation in your child's voice.

His face falls, but still his hand reaches out for you.

“Come with me, child. Please.” He says. “There will be time to avenge your family, time for you to have your revenge any way you would like. But you must come with me.”

You consider your options. Even at ten, you knew your choices, and that there is no other choice for you.  Your family is dead, your country burned, your entire purpose upended on itself. What other choice do you have? But just because you had to do it, it didn’t mean that you had to like it.

You slide yourself out of the car, and ignoring the King’s hand entirely, accompanied the maid servant in her trip up the palace steps. 

“Dad…” You heard Noctis mumble, but the King had already re-entered the car, and was driving away.


	2. (go make yourself some friends or) You'll Be Lonely.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Now at the Crown City, you have to adjust now your world has been tipped upside down.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Two!!! Thank you so much to those of you who left kudos and comments! Hopefully, this fic should update every Wednesday, but please click subscribe if you don't want to miss an update. 
> 
> The next few chapters are mainly world/relationship building. I want you guys to feel as if she is an integral part of the story as one of the chocobros. 
> 
> Enjoy the chapter!

The rooms they gave you in the palace were larger than your rooms in Tenebrae. Those, you had shared with your mother, one door leading to her room, and the other leading to Luna’s room.

Now, there are only two doors; one leading to the small bathroom, the other the hallway outside. Neither are particularly appealing to you.

The bathroom; nothing. The hallway; all that was beyond that was endless, unfamiliar corridors, the Prince, (when you think of him, you apply the word that your mother often said in bad situations, the _fucking_ Prince, it’s fitting for the son of the man that _fucked_ over your entire family.) and the King.

The room was handsome enough to stay in; sleek black walls covered in heavy drapes, a sturdy four poster with the Lucis Royal Coat of Arms emblazoned on the bedstead behind it, and plenty of bookshelves. There were tall windows giving you a perfect view over the Crown City, and a wardrobe full of clothes that had been made to measure.

Many people would have given tooth and nail to be where you were right now. You hadn’t just payed tooth and nail. You had paid with everything.

The first night you had been brought here, you had screamed and completely trashed the place. When you passed out from exhaustion in the navy armchair that was in the same style as your mother’s, you awoke the next day to everything having been repaired while you were out.

It pissed you the fuck off.

So you did it again. And again.

You stop in the end. The bed is always remade, the books put back on their shelves, the toilet roll removed from the windows and ceiling where you had thrown at them.

Presently, you receive an invitation for dinner.

Not surprisingly, you refuse.

When the invitation came again, you had to admire their persistence. Apparently the Lucian bloodline was known for being stubborn as all hell.

You don’t deliberately try to remember the weeks after you came to the palace. In your memory, they comprised of a lot of temper tantrums. A lot of crying. A lot of screaming.

When you watch the leaves on the trees outside your window turn from a lush green to a dark orange, you end up going to school.

You’ve never seen the autumn before, not really; the seasons in Tenebrae were one of two; rainy, or sunny.

In Insomnia, the air was crisp, cold; it nipped at your nose in a way you weren't used too.

The school is, like everything else in the city, unfamiliar. Back in Tenebrae, you had been homeschooled by your mother, attended sessions with Luna.

Now you are in a class of 30 children, under a false name with a false background, and finally learning what homework really means. The false name had been the King’s idea; according to the message he had sent, if Nifelheim discovered you were still alive, you may become a target as the only member of the Royal Court to escape. As he explained, you could put the whole of Insomnia at risk; as if it already wasn’t the Niff’s next target.

At least homework gave you a reason to avoid the royal family, shut up in your room, doing a lot more studying than a girl of 10 going on 11 should be doing.

Noctis joins the same school as you do, but while he is dropped off in a chauffeured car every morning, you walk.

Even in the cold air, when the seasons change again, and you see snow for the first time, you walk.

Every step on your frozen feet is a reminder that you are alive. You know that it is what your mother would have wanted, what Luna did want, but you love and hate the feeling of being in equal measure.

Winter, with it’s chills, and snow, and bare branches, is washed away by the rains of spring, the trees returning to the green you are familiar with, and even if you are not happy, per say, in Insomnia, you are not unhappy.

You wish, more than anything now, that you had someone to speak too. You cannot talk to anyone at school; they can never know what you have seen, and more importantly, not know who you are.

It really sucked, if you were honest. You think that the King assumed that you and Noctis would be friends after the time you spent together in Tenebrae, but you had hardly spoken to the child, it had been Luna’s job, and anyway, every time you saw the Prince, you were reminded that he was the reason that Luna wasn’t with you. That they had attacked your country for him.

Yes, you were aware that this was continually reiterated in your mind, but at least resentment was better than emptiness.

It had always rained on your birthday back in Tenebrae, and it was comforting to see that the rain still poured when the sun rose on your eleventh birthday. No one else knew that it was your birthday; the school had a different date, and you doubted the king cared enough to find out.

That evening, you make your way to the kitchens. Dinner had delivered as usual to your room, but that wasn’t your mission objective.

Even if there was no one to celebrate your birthday with, you want something, anything, to make it feel like home again.

The kitchen is far too large, and far too cold. There is no apparent place in which a newly eleven year old could find themselves a slice of cake and some candles.

Was it technically stealing if you lived at the palace? You didn’t want to find out.

The cake, you found, was under a steel container in the far corner of the room. As you remember from a few nights ago when it had been served as your dinnertime dessert, it was chocolate with a cream icing. Using your mother’s axe (technically, it was a hatchet, but you had called it an axe when you had received it, and you mother had laughed before gently correcting you) you cut yourself a generous slice. Because fuck the King, that’s why.

You realised that you had neglected to find yourself a plate, and so, leaving the cake where it was, you began your hunt for a plate, and of course, the all important candles.

The plates are on the other side of the kitchen, and the candles you discover in the top drawer next to the sink, along with a lighter.

Gathering your treasures, you carefully place the candles into the cake, and, slightly shakily, lift the lighter to ignite the flame.

That’s when you hear voices, or more specifically, one voice.

“Come on, I’ve got some food for you, this way…”

You don’t recognise it at first, but as you ducked behind the counter, lighter still in your hand, you caught a glimpse of the Prince entering the kitchen, seemingly talking to himself.

You hear his bare feet tread softly over to where the fridge is, and open it up.

What the hell was the Prince doing down here? Wasn’t he fed enough? And why was he up so late?

There is a rustle of paper, the sounds of a packet being opened, and the strange sound, like something wet hitting the metal floor.

“There.” The Prince says, sounding happier. “That’s better isn’t it? Don’t want you making such a long trip back on an empty stomach. And it’s a reward for being a good boy. You’re a good dog, aren’t you Umbra?”

The lighter fell from your fingers in shock, landing with a resounding clatter on the floor.

The room suddenly becomes very very quiet.

“Who's there?” The Prince’s voice speaks again, suddenly sounding scared.

There was a sudden movement, the Prince cries “Umbra!” and a second later, you have a faceful of dog. You flinch backwards, but it seemed that the second Umbra had turned the corner, he had recognised you. Now finding yourself being happily licked to death by the puppy, you manage to gasp out “Umbra, Umbra, stop, it’s ok, it’s me, it’s me!”

You run your hands up and down his fur, the fur you remembered, and it is so comforting, so wonderful to see him again, and even though you would prefer him to stop acting as if your face was a particularly delicious dog biscuit, his joy upon seeing you was contagious, and you soon find yourself laughing, for the first time in months.

“Hey, buddy.” You say, after he had seemingly calmed down enough for you to pet him properly,  though his tail was still wagging at a million miles an hour. “Are you alright?”

His only response was to lick your face again.

“How did you get here?” You wonder aloud, still stroking his fur, when you feel your hand snag on something around his neck. Looking down, you saw that, around his neck, was a collar, and attached to the collar, was a familiar book. It was Luna’s scrapbook, the one she used to collect flowers in. How, by all the Six had it ended up here? Taking in in your hands, you went to open it up.

“That’s mine!” The Prince is standing above you, still looking slightly terrified, but manages to come off as indigent in the way of a young child watching his possessions be manhandled.

“No it isn’t!” You reply, now getting to your feet, book still in hand. “This is Luna’s book! How did you get it?”

“She gave it to me so we could write to each other!” Noctis went to try and snatch the book out of your hands, but you were just taller than him. At this moment, he reminded you less of the arrogant prince you had come to expect, and more of the young child, clad in black pajamas who had snuck into the kitchen to get some food for Umbra, that he really was. Of course that was when the words he had spoken sunk in and you felt jealousy flare in your stomach.

“You’ve been writing to Luna?” You ask, voice rising in anger. “You’ve been able to talk to her this whole time and you didn’t say anything?!”

“She asked me too!”

This was too much. Luna, your Luna, had been writing to this child, this, this _arsehole_ , and this book was probably full of comforts and long passages of hope, and pressed flowers from your garden, and pictures of your home, and you had been missing her desperately, you who had lost _everything_ , _and Luna had been writing to him instead of you for months._

Umbra yelps and leaps out of the way as you launch yourself at the Prince with a cry. You know, vaguely in the back of your mind, that the noise will have guards and servants come running within moments, but right now you don’t care.

At this moment, you are filled with the urge to _hurt_ , to make him feel exactly what you feel, to hurt the King by hurting his son, and it’s stupid and childish, but you are a child, a child who has been forced to grow up far too soon. It’s all coming out, all that pain, and anger and loneliness that has plagued you for months, the bitterness in your mouth when you see families in the street, the hollow sensation when you hold your weapon, the green-eyed monster that snarls when you see the Prince. You are shouting; unintelligible nonsense, Luna’s name and flinging accusations into the boy’s face.

Noctis, on his part, is backing away rapidly, eyes wide, absolutely not expecting your reaction. His hand scrambled back as you approached, coming into contact with your cake, your plate, and more importantly, your discarded weapon.

He picks up the hatchet, _your mother's axe_ , and holds it out in front of him. He doesn't know how to handle a weapon, or at least not this one.

You screech like a daemon, and run at him with a sudden burst of speed. Tackling him by colliding shoulders first into his waist, you fling him back onto the counter. He cried out as his head met the counter with a crack, and his entire body slides sideways, landing face up on the floor. The hatchet slips out of his hand and onto the floor. You, who had landed just off to the side, a painful bruise rising on your shoulder where it had also collided with the counter, picked yourself off the floor. Noctis, younger, smaller, and with a cut on the side of his head from the impact, does not. He gazes up at you with wide, terrified eyes, as you bend down, and pick up the hatchet.

You aren’t quite sure what you were going to do with it. You are angry, seething, but you weren't about to murder a kid. Still, you enjoy this second of power, of looming over the person you blamed for everything that had happened to you, and knowing that if you wanted, you could end his life right here and now. You want him to know how it felt, to stare death in the face and know it is coming. Even if you aren’t going to kill him, you want him to die.

Of course, it is at this moment that the guards arrive. They take one look at you, standing over the helpless, injured Prince with the hatchet raised above your head, and pounce.

One second you are standing, the next, you are being dragged away, too many hands on you, hatchet wrenched from your grasp, and now you are screaming, as you watch Noctis being lifted to his feet and fussed over.

“I hate you!” You scream. “I HATE YOU, YOU KILLED THEM, I HATE YOU!”

Umbra tries to follow you out of the door, but one of the adults restrained him, even as he whines for you.

Luna’s scrapbook lies forgotten on the floor.

They deposit you back into your room, but by then you have exhausted your fighting ability, and when they close the door, you just lay on the floor, shaking. You have no energy to destroy anything, to scream and shout, to try and rebel.

You manage to gather your strength enough to sit up, and eventually, once the horrible crawling feeling of having hands on your body subsides, crawl to the space between the bookshelf and the window.

There, you feel safer, enclosed by sturdy walls and stacked shelves, with a view out of the window that let you see the clouds to control your breathing. You sit there and watch the night go by, as it slips from your birthday into nothing, the only indication of the time being the slow brightening of the sky.

When you can see the sun peaking through the gaps in the skyscrapers, the light distorted a little by the Wall above you, you stretch your legs a little. Stiff from being cramped in one position for a while, and with your shoulder still aching from earlier, you take a moment to let your limbs stretch. You have no intention of rising, even though you are quite hungry by now, and definitely in need of a shower. You entertained a vague idea of starting a hunger strike, but in the way of a child who doesn't really understand the term.

When you hear the door click open, you pull your legs back so that they ache again, knowing that your position by the window is invisible from the doorway. You assume that it's just a servant come to deliver breakfast, or maybe a guard come to proclaim your punishment from the King, but when the intruder speaks, you know it is neither of them.

It is the King.

He calls your name, and it was surprising to hear that he doesn’t sound like a king. He didn't sound commanding, like he did in council meetings, he didn't even sound angry, though you had tried to attack his son. He just sounds upset, and old, and tired.

He begins to search the room for you, and while you had thought your secret place was well hidden, it was no match for a parent’s watchful eye. You glare at him resentfully as he crouches down in front of you.

“What are we going to do with you?” He asks, almost to himself.

“I'm not going to say sorry.” You say stubbornly. “He deserved it.”

The King heaves a sigh. “You are both to blame for this. As am I.”

You had been expecting him to defend his son, to dole out a mediocre punishment; you hadn't been expecting this. More often than not, you were finding that this Royal family were surprising you.

“You should not have attacked him.” The King says. “He did not deserve your wrath. If any one deserves that, it is I, but my son is not to blame for the fall of your country.”

You open your mouth to argue, but he holds up a hand, and you fall silent, eyes lowering.

“He, however, is to blame for not informing you of the existence of the journal. It is, again, my fault for assuming that he had. He had spoken to me about you being mentioned in one of the Lady Lunafreya’s letters, she having inquired after your health. The fact that he had asked me and not you, should have told me all I needed to know. But, because I did not want to think about you, I ignored it.”

“He kept it from me.” You say. “I’m the one missing Luna, not him!”

The King shakes his head. “My son misses Lunafreya as much as you do, and he has as much right as you do to receive her letters.”

After stopping you from speaking, _again,_ he reaches into his pocket and pulls out an envelope.

“This was in the message Noctis received last night. It's for you.”

The envelope is white, home made, and sealed with the house of Fleuret sigil. In familiar, looping handwriting, your name was spelled on the cover. It smells like home. It smells like Luna.

You snatch it out of the King’s hands, and clutch it to your chest, avoiding the King’s gaze.

The sound of your name forces you to look up again, though you still do not meet his eye.

“Why were you in the kitchens?” He asks.

You stick your chin out stubbornly, taking a few moments to ponder on your answer. The King waits patiently, and it is absolutely infuriating, the fact that nothing you did seemed to rattle him.

“It was my birthday.” You surrender finally, biting your lip to force back tears, keeping up a brave face. “No one here knows my birthday, so I did it myself.”

The King appears to be startled. “Why did you not-” he closes his eyes and shakes his head, seemingly answering his own question.

“I know,” he begins, after a pause, “that you are not happy here. I know that you wish to return home. But I want this to be as much of a home as it can be for you. I did not decide to save you instead of Lunafreya. She made that choice for the both of us. She wanted you to live, and by entrusting you to me, she did the only thing she could.”

You felt tears prickling in your eyes. “Why didn't she come with us? Why did she stay?” You glared back up at the King. “Why did you leave her behind? We could have gone back for her!”

He shook his head. “You and I both know that isn't true. If I had gone back, against her express wishes, we would be dead. You, I, my son. Luna stayed for the same reason I ran. We have a duty to our people, and we must uphold that duty.”

He reaches for you, and despite initial reluctance, you let his hand rest on your shoulder. A small comfort, but you could pretend it was your real father’s. You miss your family so fucking much. It wasn’t until this small piece of comfort that you realised how much you missed it. You hadn’t been hugged since you arrived in Insomnia.

“I miss her.” You say, forcing back a sob. “I don’t know what to do without her. The only duty I had was to her. That was what I was supposed to do. And I failed.”

“No, child.” He squeezes your shoulder. “You did not fail her. I failed her.” He takes a breath. “We cannot change the past. And often, we cannot change what the future holds for us and the ones we love. That is why you must fight for what we have, here and now. I still have my kingdom. I still have my son. You still have your life. Lunafreya is still alive; you still have her if you are willing to still fight for her.”

With a sob, you abandon all proprietary, and throw yourself into his arms. He startles a little, and then folds you into a hug, in a comforting way only a parent can. Gods, you’re just a kid.

“I still hate you.” You say, after you’ve sobbed into his chest for ten minutes.

He chuckles in response. “I know.” He says soothingly, rubbing your back. “Rage at me, hate me, hurt me, even. I accept it all. I only ask one thing in return.”

He gently pushes you away, and, placing both hands on your shoulders, speaks with utter solemnity.

“Do not hurt my son. He is not to blame for my mistakes. He has a hard path ahead, a path that you and the Lady Lunafreya, as ones who know exactly what having a duty is like, will be able to sympathise with. I do not ask that you be nice to him, or be his friend, if you do not wish to. Simply know that the two of you are more similar than you realise, and that he shall be couriering Lady Lunafreya’s messages to you personally from now on.”

You nod, and sniff away the last of your sobs.

“And, I’m afraid to say, you’re grounded. You did, after all, attack the Prince”

“I kinda expected that.” You reply. You get the feeling that he is expecting you to say thank you, but you do not, and instead he simply rises, and gives you one last, reassuring smile before leaving the room.

You wait for a few moments, and then pull out the envelope and examine it carefully. As before, you find it smells of home. It makes your heart hurt and your eyes sting again. Gingerly, you slide your fingers under the flap, and pull out the letter inside.

 

_My dearest companion,_

_I hope you do not feel as if I have neglected you by letting Noctis pass on my messages. I wished to write to you many times, but I feared that I would not have the right words. It is easy to pretend with Noctis, that everything here is fine, regardless of who now occupies our home. He is a child still, but he will not remain a child for much longer. Words cannot express how much this saddens me, to have him tainted by the same world that has forced us to grow up long before we were supposed too. Yet, as Prince and Oracle, and Oracle’s Companion, none of us would have been allowed to have a childhood for long. The title of Oracle has fallen to me now; my duty is to bring hope and comfort to my people._

_This was meant to be a happy occasion. It seems that it is much harder for us to write to each other than it ever was for us to speak. I meant for my first proper correspondence with you to have a happier start; that of your birthday. I know you; I did not think that you would have told anyone anything about you if you could help it. I cannot profess to know how you are feeling, but I think I have some idea. Ravus blames the royal family for the attack and Mother’s death. He is angry, and I fear that sometimes, he is no longer the brother I knew. He has lost all hope. I cannot bear the thought of you doing the same._

_I am so sorry that I did not write sooner. I hope that this letter and this gift make up for my lack of communication. I do hope you write back; words cannot express how much of a comfort you always brought me, and now you are gone, your presence in the palace is dearly missed._

_Please remember, there is always hope. In the deepest darkness, there is always light. Even the darkest night will end, and the sun will rise._

_Always yours,_  


_Luna_

 

You fold the letter up, perhaps even more carefully than when you unfolded it. She hadn’t forgotten you. She still cared. And even when she was alone, and afraid, under enemy occupation, she was still trying to bring you comfort. You almost laugh, if you weren't crying. You still had a duty, this letter reminded you. You still had a duty to comfort her, to provide happiness though letters, if you could not physically protect her. If you couldn’t be there in person then writing letters would have to suffice. It would do more than suffice. You’d fight to make it so.

That's when you remember her aforementioned gift. You upturn the envelope, and open your palm. Into it falls a small, golden locket. It is heart-shaped, delicate and intricate. Despite you not being a jewellry person, you immediately put it on. It is the only thing you had of her now. Maybe it would give you hope when she could not. You glanced out of the window, at the light now shining brightly past the dark skyscrapers. Maybe this wouldn’t be so bad after all.

Life didn’t improve straight away. Life never does. But you start to see the better side of everything; you smile at the families that walk past you on the way to school, you throw back balls that kids chuck your way and you smile more, even when you don’t feel like smiling.

You talk to Noctis. That’s different. At first you only see him when you drop of your replies to Luna’s letters or he delivers the latest letter to you. But then you start seeing him more often; around the palace, in the city, always flanked by one of two other kids around your age. You guess it’s because the treatments from Tenebrae have started to work on his improved mobility. It’s a slow change, going from not talking to him to speaking almost every day. One day, a few months or so after your fight, he knocks on the door of your room. You are surprised, seeing that you aren’t used to seeing him outside of his deliveries.

“What are you doing here?” You ask.

“I...er...I’m stuck on this question.” he holds out a maths textbook, one you remember from when you went through that year.

“Can’t your advisors help or something?”

He swallows, nervous. “Iggy’s busy today, and Dad’s in a meeting, and you’re the only person who knows this stuff-”

You roll your eyes. “Fine. Come over here.”

After that, it becomes an infrequent routine. Noctis sucks at maths, and despite your loathing for it, you are actually quite good at it.

It’s through these meetings that you begin to learn a little more about the Prince, and well, you aren’t friends, but you’re no longer enemies.

It’s amazing how quickly the years pass when your life is the same day to day. It is in the summer of your third year at the palace, the year you turn 14, when you find out where the training rooms are. It’s annoying you didn’t know where they were before, but you are loathe to ask one of the servants, and Noctis doesn’t find out until his formal training begins at the age of 11.

Picking up a weapon again, in a room that really could be anywhere, even if the weapon is wood, brings back far too many memories of your own informal training. You had only been learning, really learning properly, with a tutor and everything, for a few months when you had been forced to leave Tenebrae. Irregular practices in your bedroom with your mother’s hatchet didn’t quite make up for the years lost.

You aren’t unfit, by any means, but running through the drills you can remember with a wooden sword and a dummy leaves you breathless and sweaty.

“Hey.” The voice behind you makes you jump and whirl around, sword out in front of you.

There's a boy standing there, dressed in what looks like servants clothes, but at the same time, they look a bit too expensive to be simple servant's uniforms. This is pressed, immaculate, and is as stiff as you would expect a new suit to be. The boy himself looks to be about your age, give or take a year. He’s carrying his own weapon, and his face is rather severe for a teenage boys.

“You’re holding it wrong.” He gestures to the sword in your hand.

You bristle in anger. “Who the hell are you?” You ask rudely.

“I could be asking you the same question. This is the royal family’s training room.” He shrugs as he comes over, and casually leans on the dummy you were attacking. “But I already know who you are. You’re that Tenabrean noble kid right?”

“I’m not a kid!” You say. And then- “How did you know who I am?”

He smirks. “My dad’s the King’s Shield. He knows everything the King does.”

You snort, raising your eyebrows. “Wow, bragging much. So I guess that makes you the Prince’s Shield then. How’s that going for you?”

You see the moment his face falls, and you chuckle as he groans. “That bad, huh?”

“He’s arrogant, spoilt and he never shows up for training.” The boy replies, glancing at the door. “I hate him.”

“Same.” You agree easily. “He’s the reason I’m here, instead of being home.”

The boy looks at you, surprised. “You don’t want to be here?”

“Hell, no! I was the Oracle’s Companion, kinda what you are to Noctis.”

The boy blinks, and pushes himself forward, glancing at your sword again. “How are you going to protect anyone when you’re holding a weapon all wrong?”

“I’m not holding it wrong!” You say, indigent.

“Yes you are.”

“No, I’m not!” You thrust the sword forward in an attack motion, but he parrys it easily.

“See?”

In annoyance, you throw the sword at his head. He ducks, laughing.

“Look, if you want me to show you how to hold it properly, his royal ass probably isn’t going to show up today.” The boy offers.

“I already know how.” You reply grumpily. The boy turns, and bends down to pick up your sword. Begrudgingly, you take it from him. “Fine.” You concede. “I do need more practice with someone who isn’t made of plastic.”

He grins at you. “Glad you saw it my way.”

Needless to say, up against a well-trained Shield in training, you get your ass kicked.

“Sorry.” He apologises, with a tone of voice that does not suggest regret in the slightest.

“You’re an asshole.” You mutter, but accept his hand to help you off the floor after nearly an hour of being hit repeatedly.

“Do you wanna come over?” He asks, suddenly. “I think we’re having pie for dinner. I guess you don’t have much company, being stuck in here with the Prince.”

“Yeah, alright.” You reply, because pie sounds great after this workout, and this kid is the nicest anyone has been to you since you arrived. Even if he did beat you up. “But, uh, before I go over to your house, I do want to know your name.”

He laughs, because, like you, he had forgotten he didn’t actually answer the question earlier.

“Gladiolus Amicitia.” He says, importantly. “But call me Gladio. My dad does.”

“Nice to meet you, Gladio.”

And it is. Dinner that night is the first time you’ve eaten with someone else; with a _family_. You meet Iris, at this point, is just 7 years old, and she calls Gladio ‘Gladdy’ which delights you, and allows you to tease him endlessly. Pretty soon, your training sessions become more regular than your tutoring sessions with Noctis. And, nine times out of ten you end up back at his house for dinner.

Over the next two years, you grow almost as close as if you had been born an Amicitia. Iris, tough, clever and still innocent, becomes a little sister to you. She reminds you a lot of Luna at that age, and you feel a swell of protectiveness that causes you to start training her as soon as possible.

When she goes missing in the Palace, and it’s Noctis’s fault, you don’t speak to him for a week, until Gladio catches you and tells you what happened. His newer, softer approach to the Prince angers you for a while, but there is nothing to be done. This boy, now a teenager, is almost infuriatingly endears himself to everyone sooner or later. You can feel that protective urge curling in your stomach when you see them training, the same protective urge you get when you train Iris, and _bugger, fucking shit._

It really doesn’t help when you get a letter from Luna on the eve of your 16th birthday. One sentence, really, seals your fate, though you do not know it at the time.

_I ask only one thing of you. Look after Noctis for me. The years ahead will be hard for him, and I wish for someone I place the utmost trust in to be looking out for him. I ask this as your Oracle. Please._

You can’t really refuse. You’ve just come to terms about the extent of your own, definitely not platonic feelings for Luna. You can’t let her down now. If promising to protect Noctis is the only way you have to show her how much you really care for her, then so be it. And if you’ve started to think that the kid isn’t half bad, even if you haven’t admitted it really to yourself, then that’s your problem. Even if it is his fault.

So, at the age of 16, you move out. You get a shitty job, rent a shitty flat, and apply to a course at a small college in downtown Insomnia. It’s not far from the Citadel; you still have to go back for training, after all, and you’re still eating dinner at Gladio’s four days a week, but it’s far enough that you get some independance.

You are glad to be out of the Place, but as far as your mixed feelings towards Noctis go, it doesn’t help. You still see him, be that for tutoring, or to get Luna’s letters, or more recently, training with him and Gladio.

Despite everything, you find yourself becoming affectionate towards him. Knowing his drinks order at coffee shops. Picking him up from school sometimes on days when his royal advisor can’t. Try as you might, you can’t fight off that over-protective urge, not with your promise to Luna ringing in your ears.

Oh Six, the two of you are going to end up as the most _insufferable_ siblings.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! If you enjoyed it, why don't you leave a comment, or come chat to me at actualenjolras1832.tumblr.com


	3. (leave the lights on) When You Stay

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A bad turn of events leads to you and Noctis becoming closer than ever.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi! Thank you for all your support on last chapter, and thank you for all your lovely comments. As always, my tumblr is actualenjolras1832.tumblr.com if you want to see me crying over these boys in real time, or if you want to ask me anything about the fic. 
> 
> Three things:   
> 1) this is probably my favorite opening to a chapter I've ever written  
> 2) The main conversation in this is one that I'm weirdly really proud of  
> and 3) A section of this chapter is based on the 'Omen' trailer, which incidentally drew me deeper into ffxv in the first place. 
> 
> Oh! I've also been sprinkling those pop culture references in these chapters; there are two in here- one is hopefully quite easy, and the other is a little harder. If anyone does comment, managing to get the both (or just one!), I'll give a little sneak preview of next chapter! Sound good? 
> 
> Chapter title from 'Fake Your Death' by MCR

“Mother _ fucker _ !”

“Language.” Gladio says absentmindedly, looking up from where he was stretching his legs on the bench to the side of the room. “What’s wrong?”

“This!” You brandish the newspaper in front of his face, and he blinks a few times before taking in the headline. It’s slightly crumpled from your tight and angry grip, but the headline is large enough that Gladio can still read it. His eyes go wide. 

“Shit.” He says. “Have you seen the King?”

“No.” You say. “I only found out an hour ago, when they fucking fired me from my job. Two years I’ve been working for them, and then they fire me the moment this breaks. Oh fuck, how am I gonna pay my rent?”

“Ok, ok, calm down.” He puts a hand on your shoulder. “It’s gonna be fine. The King can take care of it.”

You slump onto the bench, head in your hands. Out of the corner of your eye, you can still see the headline. Accusing you. Outing you, in the worst way possible. 

 

**_LOST TENEBREAN NOBLE ALIVE AND WELL IN INSOMNIA_ **

**_Is she a prisoner of war or a refugee from the Empire?_ **

 

“How did they even find out?” You murmur. “I’ve never said a word. I didn’t think anyone really knew apart from the King and the Council, maybe.”

“Hey, what’s up?” You look up to see Noctis entering the room, a look of confusion on his face. Of course, you weren't supposed to be here. It was Noctis’s Saturday training session, which had been imposed much to the 16 year old’s annoyance. You were supposed to be at work, except they had fucking fired you. You gesture to the newspaper. 

“Your dad is going to kill me.”

“No he isn’t.” Noctis replies, then reads the headline. “Nope, take that back, this is bad.”

You snort, imitating mirth. “Thanks for that.” You sigh. “Fuck. What am I going to do?”

“Lie low.” Gladio advises. “Go home. Don’t go outside for a while.”

“Gladio, look at the photos they have. That’s from outside my flat. They already know where I live.”

Gladio groans. “Come stay with us until this all blows over. Iris will be pleased to see you.”

“Thanks.” You say, this time actually meaning it. “It’s… all my shit is at the flat. I’ve got a project due for college, and exams are soon…”

“I’ll speak to my dad.” Noctis offers, surprisingly for the 16 year old. “He’ll already know, and he’ll be able to sort something out.”

“Yeah, this’ll get sorted before long.” Gladio reassures, and then stands. “Wanna spar to get the rage out of your system?” 

You accept his outstretched hand, and let him haul you to your feet. “Fucking yes.”

Noctis quickly backtracks out of the room, and it’s a good thing he does because half an hour later, you and Gladio are lying on the floor totally out of breath, but you feel a lot better.

Just as you are pulling yourselves to your feet, and discussing the pros and cons of going for ice cream (Cons: meant going into public. Pros: Ice cream) Noctis pokes his head into the room. 

“Uh… my dad wants to see you.” 

You groan, glancing down at your dishevelled and sweaty body, ignoring how Gladio is beginning to laugh. “Now?”

Noctis winces. “Yeah. The news has kind of… well, you’ll see.”

“I swear to the Six you’re being deliberately vague- shut up Gladio, stop laughing.”

Gladio raises his hands. “Sorry.” 

You glare at him. “You don’t sound sorry. It’s your fault I look like this is the first place.” In revenge, you grab his Crowsnguard hoodie of the bench , and slip it on over your t-shirt. At least you are semi-presentable looking. It hangs off you slightly, but it’s better than nothing. 

“I’ll see you back at yours.” You say to Gladio as you walk away with Noctis at your side. 

“Good luck!” He calls after you, smirking. You shake your head, a fond smile on your face, but only when he can’t see. Noctis leads you to a small meeting room in silence, and you are glad to know that you aren’t going to have to argue your case in front of the entire council. Though, you aren’t quite sure what your case is. 

“Got any idea what he’s gonna say?” You ask. 

“Kind of.” Noctis replies. “But it’s better to let him tell you.”

“Great.” You grumble. “Just great.” You throw him a look. “See you on the other side, I guess.”

You don’t bother to knock, but walk straight in. The King is sitting behind his desk, leaning over some papers, and writing something on a pad. He looks up when you enter, and nods in acknowledgement. You sit yourself down on the chair in front of his desk. His office, for a Kings, is modest. Covered in bookshelves, he has a table with a map of the world on it in the corner, and he has his desk, but other than that, it’s rather bare. There are little hints of life; a photograph of him and Noctis, aged about 6 on his desk, and even a drawing that must have been done by a young Noctis on the wall, but other than that, there is nothing. Not for the first time, you wonder about Noctis’s mother. 

After a moment of awkward silence, you speak up. “It wasn’t me.” You say, hating how much you sound like a child. You’re 18 now, an adult, for god's sake, you should not feel like you were about to get grounded.

He sighs. “I know it wasn’t. We believe it wasn’t anything nefarious, just a journalist uncovering the story and spilling it to the press. But the damage is done regardless.”   


“What do we do now?” You ask. “The threat from Nifelheim-”

“Does not increase because of you.” He says, holding up a hand. “This is unfortunate, yes, but not devastating to Lucis.”

“I wasn’t worrying about Lucis.” You mutter, before raising your voice. “What happens to me?”

The King looks you in the eye. “Tenebrae has extended an offer for you to return home. Technically, it’s being presented as an offer alone, but we both know what it really is.”

“An order from Nifelheim.” You answer, nodding. “Why do they want me back?”

“The Empire itself is demanding your return. Already, they have begun propaganda showing you as our prisoner, silenced and hidden these last few years.” He raises an eyebrow. “Do you wish to return?” 

“To Tenebrae, or to the Empire? That isn’t what I asked.”

He sighs again. “When I brought you here, you were never registered as a refugee. Legally, you have no right to stay here, and as you’ve been working, living and studying under a false name here, you could be arrested for false documentation.”

“What?” You exclaim. “This was your idea!”

“I know.”

You place your face in your hands in despair, and he continues to speak. 

“In addition to this, you are one of the last surviving members of the noble families of Tenebrae. Most were killed in the initial attack. If you went back to Tenebrae, then the Empire has complete control over the people there. With you free from their influence, it undermines their authority. It doesn’t help them that Lady Lunafreya ascended to the Oracle position so soon. There was nothing they could do to her.”

You rub your eyes before looking up again. “Luna. Does this affect her in anyway?”

He shakes his head. “Not politically. They are unable to harm her while she carries the favor of the gods”

“Good.”

There is a pause for a few moments. Neither of you seem to know quite what to say. This isn’t good, for either of you. 

“What are my options?” You ask. 

He speaks heavily. “You may return to Tenebrae. You will be under the Empire’s thumb, but you will be safe with Lady Lunafreya, and Lucis will not face the threat of retaliation from the Empire. There are no guarantees their attacks will increase because of this, but it is expected.” 

You nod. Already, you know what he will ask. He will ask you to return, for the sake of his kingdom. It wouldn’t be bad. You would be, as he said, with Luna again. But under the control of the Empire? Separated from your friends, maybe forever? Gladio, Iris, and even Noctis… You’d probably never see them again. You wouldn’t finish college. You wouldn’t see your friends again. 

“The other option is to stay here. We can arrange for you to adopt a refugee status, get you new paperwork, and change your records. You may stay in Insomnia.”

“I could do that?”

You don’t say, _ you could do that? _ The King could, is willing, to do that for you?

“If you wanted too. It is your decision.”

“It’s… what?” You are in shock. “I can stay?” 

He nods kindly. “There would have to be some changes. I would need you to make some public appearances, to counter the Empire’s propaganda, and I have a favor to ask of you, but yes, you may stay if you wish too.”

You lean forward, quizzically. “What’s the favor?” 

The King stands, and moves the window, looking out over Insomnia. 

“Noctis wishes to follow your lead and move out of the Palace for a time. I know that now, your lease on your current flat is now invalid following the revelation of your identity.”

You groan quietly. You hadn’t thought of that. 

“If he was to move into a flat, I would ask that he does not do it alone.”

“Why not any of his other friends? Gladio? Ignis?”  

“They are not in danger of homelessness. If you were to move in, there would be no need to pay rent. Only your own expenses, and your education, but I believe you do that anyway.”

You straighten up a little, anger colouring your cheeks. “I’m not a charity case.”

“No, you are not. Think of this as more of a trade; Noctis gets his independence, you get a flat, I get peace of mind knowing my son is not going to blow himself up.”

“What does Noctis think about all this?” You ask. 

“He was the one that offered.” The King says. “He’s been trying to persuade me to let him move out since he turned 16. Perhaps he thought it would assuage my fears.”

You mull it over. On one hand, you stay. You stay in Insomnia, and (almost) everything remains the same. You can still talk to Luna. You can finish your education, but you won’t forget from whence you came. The world knows your name, now. You won’t, you can’t allow yourself to submit to the Empire. They won’t take the life you’ve built for yourself here. They think that you’ll be back? The only way you’ll be going back to them is with your axe in one hand and your mother’s hatchet in another. 

On the other hand, sharing a flat with Noctis. The possibility of retaliation from the Empire. What Luna might say; you could be passing up your only opportunity to see her again, to go home. You would have to parade yourself around for the King, for your own safety and freedom. Living in the public eye, as Noctis has done for the last few years. Could you do that?

You know your answer. You made a promise to Luna to keep him safe. You couldn't very well give it up now. 

“I’ll stay.” You say, then clear your throat when your declaration sticks a little in your throat. “I’m going to stay.”

* * *

 

The flat in question is much, much larger than your previous abode. You don’t have much stuff, so your bedroom still feels rather sparse. Neither the kitchen or the living room fare much better, but as the weeks go by, you can slowly begin to see the signs of the flat being lived in. Your jacket lives on the back of the sofa, Noctis's school books spread over the coffee table, your laptop migrating daily from the worktop to your bedroom and back. 

You don’t realise that you’ve become friends with Noctis until he is sitting cross legged in front of you on the floor, while you hover a pair of scissors over his hair. 

“Please be careful.” He whines

“I know what I’m doing, Noct.” You say, annoyed. “Have a little faith.”

“This was the worst idea, oh gods…”

“ _ You _ asked  _ me  _ to do this.”

“Why am I letting you do this?”

You sigh, and grab a strand of his hair, which, if you don’t cut it soon, will be in danger of making his royal highness look like a frontman for one of the godawful bands he listens too. (They’re actually really good, but Noctis doesn’t need to know that) 

“Because.” You say, irritably. “The last time you went to the hairdressers you came back looking like you were 14 again, and strands of your hair ended up online for thousands of gil.”

“Oh yeah. That’s why.” He fidgets a little, attempting to get comfortable. The strand falls out of your hands, and you nearly cut off several inches. 

“Oh for Six’s sake, Noct, stop moving!”

“Sorry.” He says, and sounds bashful, but still fucking scared. You sigh, and put down the scissors, resting one hand on his shoulder. 

“Do you trust me?” You ask. 

His head moves slightly, then he remembers he isn’t supposed to move. 

“Yeah.” he replies. “Yeah I do.”

You pick up the scissors again, ignoring how this means that the two of you are friends now, and more than that, it’s like you’re siblings but more, and you do not need to be thinking about that when you are about to cut his hair, and put them to the longest strand. “Act like it then, jeez.”

* * *

 

You’ve always had nightmares. Vivid, awful nightmares of places and people you have no memory of, but your heart breaks when you see them anyway. 

It’s been months since you moved in with Noctis when you get the worst one yet. 

_ Everything is burning. The ground is hot, and the air is stuffy even as you drag it into your lungs in a desperate attempt for oxygen. The land around is devastated; you don’t know where you are, and that is because there are no longer any indications that anything was there before it began to blaze.  _

_ There are few trees, blackened by the flame, but that is all that remains. You curl your bloodstained fingers around the burnt trunk, and haul yourself to your feet. You shouldn’t be walking, your innards are literally being held in by your hand alone, but all your determination, all your drive, is focused on moving forwards. You stagger past monsters, roaring daemons made of ash and flame, but they pay you no heed. What’s the point in going after someone who is already dead? _

_ The others. You have to find the others. There are shouts and screams from up ahead, and you follow in desperation.  _

_ A morbid trail of corpses greets you as you make your slow pilgrimage to the top of the hill. You had been pushed off the edge of the road, but as you fall to your knees in horror, you can feel the burn of cement.  _

_ Eviscerated corpses lie on the tarmac, Kingsglaive and Crownsguard alike, looking to all the world like some foul beast tore through them. Only their wounds, while vicious, are precise, and sharp, nothing like the claws of beasts further ahead.  _

_ One body in particular catches your eye, and no no no, please, please.  _

_ Gladio is slumped against the wreckage of the Regalia, head bowed, his longsword driven straight through his torso and chest, and into the metal of the car. He is covered in blood, still dripping in it, as if the wound was recent. No longer able to stand, you crawl over to him, even though you know it is too late. You were too late. His face, red, devoid of life, still looks shocked. The face of the betrayed. You couldn’t even warn him, warn him about the threat, and now it is too late. You reach with an unsteady hand and close his eyes.  _

_ You do not have the luxury to do the same with the next body you come across. Your waking self holds no affection for him at this moment, but here, stuck in a nightmare, your dreaming self chokes out a horrified sob. Ignis lies on the ground, just beyond the car. There is no blood on his face, his glasses perched perfectly on the end of his nose, but his eyes… his eyes are empty. There is nothing left behind them. They stare straight ahead, through you, as if searching for a reason to his death. The rest of his body rests a few feet away, and you have to bite your lip to hold back vomit.  _

_ You have to find him. You can’t have been too late for him. You were too late to save them, but him, he wouldn’t, he couldn’t, he can’t be- _

_ You don’t even have the energy to scream when you see his body. You let out, instead, a pitiful, heartbroken whine, a desperate denial of the truth. In the dream, your heart shatters into tiny pieces at the sight of his slumped body, but you are detached from it, safe in the knowledge that, not yet at least, you do not know this boy. But then why does it feel like someone just killed you all over again? _

_ His eyes are closed in surrender, and there are burn marks all over his arms. His black jacket is ripped, and his hand, missing several fingers, reaches still for the gun that had fallen just out of his range. Both his pale face and blonde hair are dusted in ash and painted in blood splatter, the spray on his face imitating his freckles in a morbid fashion.  _

_ There is no denying the truth of your eyes, however much you want too. He’s dead, they’re dead, and soon you will be too.  _

_ But there is still someone left, still someone you can save. You have to at least try.  _

_ Luna.  _

_ You turn away from the body, and look towards the figure in the centre of the ring of monsters.  _

_ They clutch a black sword, dripping with blood, and seems to be stalking up and down like a confused animal. They are almost entirely black; not in their skin colour, but as if darkness itself has wrapped around them, warping them, destroying them beyond repair. The darkness twists like fire itself on their body, and fire lives in their eyes, burning with a ferocity that makes you want to run, even though you know you cannot.  _

_ Changed, yes. But they are not unrecognisable. And that is the worst part. When the figure turns their attention to you, you know them. You know the shape of their body, the cut of their face, their hair. You would know him anywhere, even here, at the end of the world. As he advances, sword in hand, and a snarl on his lips, you realise there is nothing to be done. You can’t save him. You couldn’t even save yourself.  _

_ Words spill from your mouth, horrible, pitiful begging that you thought you would never stoop so low as to say aloud. You don’t even know what you are saying, only that you are speaking; one last attempt to make him hear you, to bring him back, to save him- _

_ “Noct, Noctis please, please it’s me, please don’t do this, don’t do this Noctis, Noct, Noct, please-” _

_ The sword finds its mark easily into your heart. The creature above you- this isn’t Noctis, not anymore- smiles.  _

_ Over it’s shoulder, you can see a figure, a familiar figure, dressed in white and clutching a trident.  _

_ “Luna…” You try to say, but the blood has already filled your lungs. You have to warn her, you have to tell her to get out of here, he cannot be saved, yet she will still try, she will try to save him and she will die.  _

_ The last thing you see is the creature turn from your body, and the rigid determination in Luna’s shoulders.  _

You awaken with a gasp, hands flying to your chest in a panic. Finding no wound, you relax slightly, though your heart rate does not cease its rapid pumping. Trembling slightly, you reach out to turn on the light, and then sit up in order to cradle your head in your hands. 

You aren’t dead. Gladio isn’t dead. Luna isn’t about to die. You are safe, in your flat in Insomnia, and there are no monsters, no fire, and no pain. 

At least, that is what you try to tell yourself. There is a horrible, paranoid part of your brain that whispers  _ this isn’t real, you’re going to go back to sleep and it’ll be real again, this is the nightmare _

You wish it would shut up. You’re safe. You’re safe. The creature, Noctis, cannot find you here. Still, you are seized with the urge to check, to shake Noctis awake and make sure his eyes have not turned a deep violent orange. 

Just as you manage to control your heart rate down to a manageable level, you hear an ear-splitting shout. It’s horrified, as if his heart has been shattered into a million pieces, as if he’s just lost the one thing that matters. 

_ Noctis _ .

You leap out of bed and run full pelt out of your room, down the hall, and throw open the door to his room. You are expecting an intruder, Noctis with his sword out,  _ something _ . 

Instead, Noctis stares up at you with wild, terrified eyes, tangled in his blankets on the floor, shirtless, and vulnerable, but with no danger in sight. 

His eyes are, to your immense relief, as blue as you remember. 

“I’m… I’m sorry.” He gasps, heaving for breath, his entire frame shaking, gazing up at your silhouetted frame. It seems to be an instinctive apology, as if he is trying to apologise for something, though for what, you do not know. “I'm so... sorry.”

“Noct…” You drop to your knees in front of him, running a hand down his arm as you scan his body for any possible injuries. There are none. He just seems shaken. “Are you alright?”   


His eyes don’t focus on you, staring off into space, relieving whatever nightmare scared him so. 

“Noct, look at me.” His eyes are still horrified, and his breathing begins to become more like he is hyperventilating. “It was just a dream, Noct. Come back. Noctis, come back.”

His eyes snap to you, tears welling up in them against his will. 

“That’s it, Noct. Breathe. It was just a nightmare.”

With your hand on your back, you use your other hand to maneuver the blanket around his shoulders, wrapping him up in an embrace. The pair of you sit there on the floor, curled into each other; you don’t mention how reassuring this is to yourself. Instead, you mumer quiet reassurances to him until his breathing slows down, and you feel like he has the strength to be helped back into bed. Once you are both sitting on the bed, you say, very quietly: “Do you want to talk about it?”

He shakes his head. 

“OK.”

“Do you want to try going back to sleep now?” 

Noctis hesitates, before nodding again. 

You make sure he is comfortable, even if he is still shaking slightly, then make a move to leave. 

“No!” The protest bursts out of Noctis’s mouth and you sit back down abruptly. His face blushes as he mumbles his request. 

“Will… will you stay with me?” He asks, a tremor in his voice. “Until I fall asleep?”

You don’t hesitate before replying. “Of course.” you say gently. “Scooch over.” 

He does, and you pull the duvet over the pair of you. With no restraint, he curls into you, claiming the position as the little spoon before you can say anything. Carefully, you reach up to turn off the bedside lamp, before hesitantly putting one arm over his waist. At least from this position, you can monitor his breathing. You don’t plan on falling asleep, but fall asleep you do, gentle breaths ruffling the back of Noctis’s neck, the two of you eventually breathing in tandem. 

When you awaken in the morning, you aren’t aware that a change has occurred- but you watch the light streams through the window, and falls on Noctis’s face, more peaceful and youthful than it seems during the day, and you think; I could get used to this. 

Your clothing migrates from your room to Noctis’s, you get used to sleeping with someone beside you, and when you both have nightmares, you intertwine your hands together to let you know that the other is real. 

It’s not romance; your crush on Luna burns bright and strong and morphs from a simple crush to something a lot deeper, though you only hint at this in your letters. It’s not really siblings either. Friends, but more than the friends you were before. 

It’s breakfast in your underwear, it’s ruffling Noctis’s hair to wake him even as he groans. It’s legs tangled together, and a kiss to his forehead to tell him to stop studying. 

It’s good.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter: We meet Ignis properly for the first time!
> 
> If anyone is wondering about the dream- have you ever had dreams where you've been trying to save someone and you lose them, but when you wake up you realise you don't actually know them in real life, and you've just made them up for a dream, but somehow you are still grieving for them even if you don't know them? Idk if anyone else gets this feeling, but I have, so that's the feeling I was trying to convey. 
> 
> Hope you all enjoyed!


	4. (sticks and stones may break my bones) But Words Will Always Hurt Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You meet Ignis. It's an explosive start to a friendship.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi, everyone! Thank you all for being so nice with the last chapter! I do hope you enjoy this one!
> 
> Fun fact: This was one of the first scenes I wrote, so I hope I wrote Ignis alright!
> 
> Just a quick cw for menstruation, it's only a mention and there is no actual description, but if that icks you out, this is a small warning! 
> 
> With that in mind, onwards!

It’s been nearly a whole year since you had moved in before you met Ignis properly. Oh, you knew him well enough- a rather dull, serious boy who was essentially your equivalent to Noctis. Or so you thought.

It wasn't as if you went out of your way to avoid him, it just happened. You worked night shifts at the local cafe, then went to train with Gladio or alone. By the time you came home, Ignis had come and gone, often leaving behind meals for you both. It was, as you often thought at the time, the only thing he was good for. You didn't think about the pit of jealousy in your stomach that stirred every time Noct mentioned his name. You weren't going to be jealous of a man simply because he was living the life you should have, the life of the heir’s advisor. That didn't stop you avoiding him, or imagining his stupid face breaking under your fists when you trained.

It was a stupid hatred, a pointless resentment, but now you and Noctis had, to a certain extent, settled your differences, someone had to become a scapegoat for your anger against the King. The man who spoke to Noctis on his behalf seemed like as good as a pick as any.

It was a shame he was so good at cooking. You really wanted his recipe for chicken kiev.

It is a cloudy Thursday, and to your annoyance, the gym had been closed. You hurry home instead, not really thinking about much, just irritated that you would now have to train twice tomorrow.

The flat, as you had expected, is empty when you arrived. You mind wanders as you make yourself a warm drink and a snack on auto pilot, instead concentrating on the melody you sing as you did so.

It wasn’t often you got the flat to yourself to practice, and you’re going to make the most of it. Your voice rose in volume, dipping with the notes of an old Tenabrean lullaby. Slowly it morphs into the pop song you had heard on the radio that morning, then into an older song from one of Noctis’s bands. Lost in the music, you don’t hear the door open until it clicks shut behind the entrant.

You abruptly stop mid note, turning sharply to see Ignis standing in the hallway. Apart from a few meetings, you and he had never been alone in a room together. There was a moment of awkward silence, before he clears his throat, and nodding his head towards you, says;

“You have a lovely voice.”

Your replying smile is slightly stilted as you watch him change his shoes. “Thank you.”

He enters the kitchen, and you notice he was carrying grocery bags, which he sets upon the counter.

“Do you sing often?” He asks, seemingly more out of politeness than a desire to learn more.

“As much as I can.” You reply. The tension in the room is palpable, and you have every wish to simply escape and head to a different room. Or even better, leave the flat all together.

“Are you classically trained?” He inquires. “I do not mean to pry, it simply sounded as if you were?”

You smile, a little bit more real than before. “I am. You have a good ear. I’ve trained ever since I was eleven, but I stopped recently.”

Ignis continues the conversation as if he had no idea of the desperation you felt to escape his polite questions. He began to unpack the shopping as he spoke. Your hand curled around the mug you were holding and took a small sip.

“Why did you stop, if I may ask? You certainly have the talent for it.”

Your answering smile is tight this time. “The tutor the Crown hired for me was rather expensive. When I moved out of the palace, I wanted to be as independent as possible. That meant not letting the King pay for my hobbies. He and I have not always seen eye to eye.”

You begin to move towards your room, considering the conversation over, but Ignis spoke again.

“Yet, you live in his apartment.”

You pause, choosing your words carefully. Your fingers tap against the mug in your hands.

“I do.”

Ignis inclines his head. “And you are sleeping with his son.”

You choke on the mouthful of tea you had just drank, the shock of Ignis’s statement causing you to begin a coughing fit.

Ignis moves to help, but you hold up a hand to stop him as you clutch to the end of the kitchen island, putting your mug down while you catch your breath.

“What the hell gave you that idea?” You splutter, face red from both the choking and the embarrassment. You manage to catch your breath long enough to look back up at him.

He looks more confused than worried in regards to your reaction.

“You sleep in the same bedroom.” He says, brow furrowing. “I apologise if I overstepped my bounds but your clothes and other items have been in the Prince’s room for a while now, so I simply believed-”

“Damn right you overstepped!” You say angrily, eyes narrowing. “You had no right to- wait, my clothes? Have you been in our bedroom?”

“The Prince is not the tidiest of people. I have cleaned up the apartment on occasion.”

Your mouth opens and closes without your permission as you process this information. Heat rose in your cheeks as you realise precisely what that means. Your clothes in Noct’s room, medical documents strewn across the table because Noct hardly ever studies there so you thought it was safe, your bloodstained stained sheets and pajamas in the utility room sink because your cycle is always out of sync, your letters from Luna, private photos that you don’t mind Noctis seeing, but you don’t know Ignis, and he’s just gone in and walked over everything you thought was safe.

“How dare you.” Your voice is quiet, almost shaking with rage. “There was private information, private things that you had no right to see.”

“I did not mean to intrude-” He begins, but you cut him off.

“What does it matter to you who he’s sleeping with?” You ask “Why do you want intrude on every little thing in his life? Does that poor kid not get any privacy?”

“He is the Prince!” Ingis replies, indigent. “Everything he ever does will be scrutinised by the whole world! You here in the first place could be damaging enough without him getting attached!”

Your voice rises in fury “Attached? So he’s not allowed friends now!?”

“Not someone in the position you are in!” His voice is infuriatingly low, not shouting or raising his voice.

You can begin to feel your temper flow out of your control.

“You are a danger to him, because you are Tenebrean! If word was to get out that the last noble born native of Tenebrae was sleeping with the Prince, it would cause a scandal that the royal family could not escape. Simply the news of your escape was enough to provide the Niflheim propaganda department with enough material for months! News of your affair could have devastating effects to the entire country, never mind that his Highness will be devastated when you have to end it!”

“And why the hell is that?!”

Ignis’s voice is slow, as if he was explaining himself to a three year old. “Noctis is still young, compared to you, and the breakdown of your relationship will only hurt him deeply. I am meant to protect him, guide him, and advise him. You, on the other hand, are a distraction from his real duties. He must be ready to rule, and believing himself capable of living a normal life is detracting from this!”

“He deserves the chance to try for a normal life!” You shout back. “He doesn’t deserve to have every second of his life monitored by pompous assholes like you who have no idea what it is like! He’s still a kid!”

At this, Ignis moves himself closer, eyes hard and cold with his own anger. Your breathing was short, fast, and you were mere moments away from pulling your weapon.

“He is practically an adult. And by now, he should know that he needs to grow up and realise there is more to life than a casual fling with what amounts to a political prisoner. He has responsibilities that require his attention.”

“What do you know about responsibility?” You shoot back. “All you’ve ever done is act as his handler; I am a hell of a lot more capable of protecting him and advising him than you are and my charge and Princess is lost to me forever. You want to prepare him for ruling? Leave him the fuck alone. There’s only one throne, but I see you.” Your tone turns venomous, the words poison in your mouth. “You just want all his power for yourself. You want to have him all to yourself so that you can manipulate Noct from the second his father dies. All you want is power!”

Now his temper flares, but compared to your fiery rage, his is icy and contained, frost in every clipped syllable.

“And you?” He counters. “How do I know you don’t want the same thing? To rule by his side, perhaps, but from what I know of you, you are not one for those romantic ideals. Perhaps it is you who wishes to hold the power, you started early by starting this relationship and you hope you end up queen?”

You wanted a rise from him, but not like this. Now he’s almost terrifying as you realise that due to his height, now that he’s face to face with you, he towers over you.

“Plenty of Tenebraen’s aligned themselves with Niflheim when they invaded, what is to say you did not do the same?” He hisses.

“Those monsters killed my entire family. They slaughtered my people and they devastated my country! How fucking dare you suggest that?” You yell, outraged at the mere suggestion, but his fast words cut you off.

“How dare I?” He shouts, and oh there it was. The righteous anger of a King’s Companion, the fury on behalf of someone he truly knows nothing about. “How dare you manipulate his feelings like this for your own gain?!”

“I’m not fucking him!” You bellow, voice louder than you intended, but with your face flushed red, fists shaking in fury, what the hell did he expect? “I’m not fucking sleeping with him!”

There is a click. In the noise you two were making, and for the second time that day, you had neglected to hear the door opening. Turning from where you were stood, far too close to each other, breathing hard, you saw Noctis standing in the door, school bag in his hand and a look of shock on his face.

“Guys?” He ask “What’s going on?”

“This is what happens when your dad picks your friends for you.” You snarl, and then turn, storming off down the hall towards the door.

“Wait!” Noctis calls after you, but you were already gone.

* * *

 

The playground is quiet. Only the creak of metal as you swing slowly back and forth permeated the silent air. You always liked it here: this small area of green, almost always abandoned, the noise of the city muffled by the tall building surrounding it. It was a good place to think, swinging back and forth, feet dragging on the ground. It is also absolutely freezing. The chill of the winter's night had quickly enveloped you, your thin shirt being pretty much useless in the frosty night air. Your blue and silver silk scarf had been left in the flat, and you regret not picking up a coat in your rush to leave. You blow into your hands in an attempt to warm up your fingers. It was ineffective, but you would head back to the flat soon. Ignis would be leaving soon, hopefully sooner rather than later. Then you would have to talk to Noctis about the sleeping arrangements. Maybe even a new flat.

Fuck. You run your hands through your hair, then, pushing your feet, kick yourself off the ground, propelling yourself higher on the swing. The movement warms up your legs, if only marginally.

“You must be freezing.” A voice from behind you caused you to spin around rapidly. Ignis is there, wrapped in a black coat of his own while holding your coat and silver silk scarf in the other.

You dig your heels into the ground to stop the motion of the swing.

“Yeah” You reply, voice taut.

“Mind if I join you?” He asks.

You shrug, and he moves to come and sit on the vacant swing next to you, handing you the clothes.

Seconds pass in silence, with only the shuffle of clothes as you wrap the coat and scarf around yourself.

“How did you know this was mine?” You ask eventually.

Ignis swallows. “Noctis told me. He also told me where you would be.”

He pauses. “I wanted to apologise. For what I said.”

You laugh humorlessly  “What part?”

“Noctis explained the situation. I am sorry for assuming you were together. I… want to apologise for the accusations I made. They were unfounded and uncalled for. I should not have said them.”

“Thank you” you say carefully. “I… am also sorry. I didn't mean any of the things I said. I was just saying them to get a rise out of you. You were being infuriatingly calm. I don’t think you’re really out to get Noctis’s power.”

“Nor I you.” He replies. “You have been through things I can not imagine, and I cannot profess to know what you plan to do, but taking the crown for your own is not one of them, my lady.”

You snort. “I’m no lady. I might be of high-born blood, but all I have left is a name. No lands, no people, no fancy house. The Niffs destroyed all of that.”

“I am truly sorry for your loss.” Ignis says, stiff in his address, and you can tell he is biting back the instinct to refer to you as your title again.

You sit in silence with him for a moment, and reflect on the events.

“Did Noct tell you why we share a room?” You ask quietly.

“No.” Ignis replies shortly. “He said it was both of your secrets to tell, which meant you have a say in who knows about it. I won’t force you.”

“I’m not going you tell you.” You say quickly, not yet comfortable with him knowing about your consistent nightmares. “Not now, anyway.”

Ignis nods “Understandable. I would be shocked if you did. You don’t strike me as that kind of person.”

“What kind of person do I strike you as?” You ask, almost in spite of yourself.

He regarded you with wisdom that a boy your age, a boy who had not seen what you had seen, shouldn’t really have. Suddenly, you realise you probably shouldn’t have made assumptions as to his character and experience. Everyone already knew the details of your background, but you knew nothing of his. You should have learned this after getting to know the Prince; sometimes people are not what they seem.

“Angry.” He says finally. “And sad. But you keep on going anyway. Personally, I don’t quite know how you do it. If I had lost Noctis the same way you lost the Lady Lunafreya, I...I don’t know what I’d do.”

You weren’t expecting his reply to be so honest.

“I-” You start, and then cut yourself off. “I was- I _am_ jealous of you.”

He looks up at you in surprise. Before he could speak, you continue.

“You have the life I should have.” You explain. “I lost my country, my family and my charge. You got Noctis, while I left Luna behind. I resented Noctis for a long time, because I was an angry grieving kid who needed a scapegoat and he was an easy target to hate. When we… settled our differences, let's say, that resentment passed to you. I didn’t bother to get to know you, all I knew was that you were in the position I should be in. I’m sorry. I shouldn't have judged you.”

“Thank you.” He says, after a short pause. You look up from where you had hung your head in shame, surprise written all over your face.

“Why?”

“For being honest.”

“Do you think we would have been friends?” You ask, slightly wistfully. “If nothing had happened that day. If Noctis had gone back to Lucis and Tenebrae was never invaded. Would we have met up on a diplomatic mission one day? Bonded over our charges?”

For the first time since your discussion began, he gazes directly into your eyes.

“We might have done. It is entirely possible.”

You huff a short laugh.

“That does not mean we cannot be friends now, however.”

“You have a habit of dropping bombshells when I’m not ready, did you know that?” You say, startled. “You really want to be friends, after what I just said?”

He raises one eyebrow. “Why would I not? We have both apologised, and it seems we have much in common.”

“I’m not good at having friends.” You reply. “I’ve only got one.”

“I’d disagree with that.” He replies mildly, “But, if you insist, how about a potentially considering friend?” He suggests “You can always back out, if you so wish.”

You consider his proposition. What harm was there in agreeing? “Done.”

The two of you shake hands, leaning across the swings to meet in the middle. You swing forwards and back a little, considering your options before you speak again.

“Ignis.”

“Mhm?”

“Now that we’re potentially considering friends… could I have your recipe for chicken kiev? It’s fucking amazing.”

It was the first time you had ever heard him laugh, but despite it’s rarity in the coming months and years, it was something that quickly grew familiar to your ears.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Friendship unlocked! 
> 
> Ok ok, I know you're all dying to know now, but I am pleased to announced that Prompto will be appearing in the next chapter! Finally! 
> 
> I can't wait for you all to see how they meet, I'm rather proud of it. 
> 
> As always, please leave a comment or kudos if you enjoyed, and I will see you all next Wednesday!


	5. (and these are the lives) You Love To Lead

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You meet Prompto. Also, it's Noctis's birthday.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Its the chapter you've all been waiting for.... Enter Prompto, stage right! In hopefully, what is a fun and interesting way!
> 
> I hope you all enjoy this as much as I enjoyed writing it!
> 
> Thank you all so much for your kudos and comments, they really bring me so much joy! Love you all. 
> 
> A small note- I would suggest listening to this song (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9ouMlUZt9DI) during the later sections of this chapter. You'll know when.

“Do you really think this is a good idea?” Prompto asks. “I mean, I’ve never done anything like this before.”

Noctis slaps him on the shoulder. “You’ll be fine! A couple of bruises maybe.” He turns to glance at Prompto. “You sure you wanna do this? They won’t go easy on you just because you’re new.”

Prompto swallows nervously before grinning. “No. I gotta do this, right? If I wanna come with you guys, I gotta know how to defend myself. Otherwise I’m just dead weight.”

“No you’re not.” Noctis replies automatically. “It’s a dangerous out there beyond the Wall. It’s common sense to make sure you aren’t going to get hurt. Though,” He grins a little sheepishly. “You’re going to get hurt now.”

Prompto winces, as Noctis reaches out and opens the double doors to the training rooms. 

Inside, there are two people fighting. One is Gladio, wielding a wooden training version of his long sword in an arc, grinning as he bears it down on his opponent. His opponent, you, laughs as you duck away from him, bringing your own weapon; a thick wooden stick, around to knock Gladio’s feet from under him. He dodges with one leg but it hits the other, and he stumbles slightly. You use this opportunity, grabbing his arm to haul yourself up, using your other arm to bring the stick round to tap his neck. 

“One-two!” you say happily. Groaning, he suddenly lashes out at your legs with the long sword knocking you onto your back. 

“Two-two.” He counters. 

He stands over you while you gasp for breath, all the wind having been knocked out of you. 

In the doorway, Prompto gapes; Noctis grins. 

“Just give up already.” Gladio says. 

“Not on your life.” You reply, gritting your teeth. Straining your muscles, you throw all of your energy into pushing your body upwards. Using the pole, you twist it so it hooks behind his neck dragging him down and pulling you up. You kick him once in the chest, but keep your hands on the pole around his neck, allowing the motion to pivot your legs around his waist. Your attack and now your weight on his back drops him almost immediately. Now, you are practically straddling his back, his longsword spinning out of his hand across the floor, and his head held up entirely by the pole you are holding to his neck. 

“Two-three.” You hiss into his ear. “I win.”

“Fine, fine!” He chokes. “I concede.” 

You release your hold, standing up so that he had turn himself over into a more dignified position. 

“Finally, some sportsmanship.” You tease. “What happened to not hitting a girl?” 

“Not when she hit me first.” He replies. Grinning, you lean down to give him a hand up. He accepts gracefully, and finally, when he is standing, you take notice of the visitors by the door. 

Gladio waves in greeting, leaning on his longsword a little for support as you make your way over to the pair. “Hey, Noct, hey Prompto. Nice to see you again.”

Ah yes. Gladio and Ignis had already met Prompto several times, and you could tell just from what they had said to you, that the four of them were already on the track to becoming fast friends. 

“Hey Noct!” You greet him and he grins at you. 

“Nice takedown.” He says. 

“Thanks.” You smile. “You’re next.” As he turns visibly pale, you take note of the expression on the face of the boy at his side. “Enjoyed the show?” You ask. He gapes a little in response. 

“Y-yeah!” He says. “You, um, fought well.” 

“No.” Gladio appears behind you, slapping him on the shoulder, making him jump a little. “She fought dirty.”

“You used the same move on me two weeks ago, you have no excuse.” You reply. “You’re Prompto, right?” You ask, addressing the boy. 

“Yeah.”

You smile, attempting to go for reassuring. Gods only know how much he could be freaking out right now at the thought of training. He had just watched you pummel a guy twice your size into the dirt. He’s also, now you take a good look at him, blushing really hard, and fidgeting nervously. 

“Noct’s told me a lot about you.” 

He had indeed. Ever since the boys had met in high school, you had been regaled with ‘Prompto this’ and ‘Prompto that’. You had a feeling that, seeing as you lived with him, you had gotten the worse end of the deal in terms of getting your ear talked half to death, but you didn’t particularly mind. At least Noctis had a friend that wasn’t being paid to hang around him. Not that Ignis and Gladio would stop being friend with him if they suddenly were no longer obligated too, but it was good for Noctis to have a friend who hadn’t spent his life in the service of the Royal Family. His descriptions of the boy didn’t really match with real thing however. You were expecting a skinny, bumbling kid, probably tall and slightly arrogant in the way that teenage boys often were. You hadn’t expected his blonde hair to sticking up as tall as it was without any kind of obvious product, or the way that his eyes really were very blue, reminding you of sylleblossoms. You also realise that all this time is that you had been imagining him at the same time Noctis began talking about him. You had imagined him as a 15 year old kid. He was, in fact, 18 at the very least, and lacking in any kind of arrogance that you’d expected. He was only slightly taller than you, and his frame, while skinny, wasn’t thin by any means, and had the obvious look of someone who was physically fit in much the same way Noctis was from regular training sessions. This didn’t exactly line up with the picture that Noctis had painted of the joker photographer. 

“H-has he?” He asks, chuckling nervously. 

“Only good things, Prom!” Noctis replies, leaning against the side of the door frame. 

“Well, he didn’t tell me all of his friends could knock me down in one blow.” Prompto says. “Though, I kinda knew that just from seeing Gladio the first time. He didn’t say anything about you though.”

“Aww, Noct, you didn’t tell him about me?” You tease. “I’m hurt.”

“I guess you’re so forgettable that you just fade into the background.” He responds dryly. You clutch at your heart in mock-horror. 

“I’m gonna make you pay for that. You won’t forget me for as long as there is still bruising.” 

Noctis winces as your tone shifts from teasing to being more serious. 

“I can’t tell if you’re joking, and now I’m terrified.”

“You should be.”

He groans. “I’m not going to be able to get out of bed after this, am I?”

“You can barely get out of bed on a good morning anyway.” You shoot back. “Anyway, seeing as Noctis never talks about me,  _ ever _ , I’d better introduce myself.” You mock bow. “His Highness’s live-in babysitter and ass-kicker, at your service.”

“Hey!” Noctis protests, but Prompto laughs, which is a plus. In the back of your mind, you notice that he had a very cute laugh. He crinkles his nose up so that the freckles there are barely visible,  and his blue eyes seem to sparkle in delight. Of course, none of this romantic nonsense reaches your conscious brain as you shut it down as soon as you think it. 

“Are we gonna do this, or are we gonna stand around teasing Noctis all day?” Gladio asks. “Not that I mind but…”

“Ok, ok, I got your point.” You laugh. Turning back to Prompto, you gesture with your free hand. “Wanna begin?”

You see his eyes flicker to the staff in your other hand, and you shake your head when his eyes meet your again. 

“Don’t worry, I’m not going to be using this.” You say, throwing the staff over to Noctis, who catches it with one hand. You grin when you turn back to Prompto. “Yet.”

He swallows visibly, but follows you regardless to the training mat. 

“We’ll start with hand to hand combat.” You say. “Mainly defense, before moving onto weaponry. Everyone has a weapon they favor, but even that can fail you in battle. When that happens, you have to rely on your fists and your instincts.” He nods.

“So.” You say, bringing your fists up in front of your face in a fighting stance. “Show me what you’ve got.”

He gapes at you. “What? You aren’t gonna teach me anything first?!”

You shrug lightly. “Learning is in the doing. I don’t know what I need to teach you until you show me what you can do.” You grin at him. “Come on then, try and hit me.”

“You’re just gonna let her kick my ass?” He calls over to Noctis. 

“I did tell you you were going to get hurt.” He shrugs. “Plus, she did exactly the same thing to me.”

“Damn right I did.”

Prompto takes a deep breath, and doing quite a good imitation of your own fighting position, readies himself. 

He comes at you with a strong but poorly placed right hook. You deflect it easily, and plant a fist right into his stomach. No need to ruin such a nice face-  _ shut up brain!- _ and while he staggers back, you lash out with one leg, catching him in his side. He collapses, wheezing. 

“Your opponent won’t give you time to recover. They’ll take any opportunity they can get. Don't let them distract you.” You say. “You have to learn to get up as quickly as you can, and then faster.”

To his credit, he starts getting up as soon as you start speaking, but he only regains his balance after you’ve stopped. Even more impressive, he actually raises his fists again. You smile. You’re really starting to like him. Cute, determined and willing to take on a challenge. 

This time, Prompto feigns a blow to the left, before going again for a punch with his right hand. He seems to favor his right side, and you notice that on his wrist lies a striped sweatband, which he had been playing with earlier. The sight of this, but no matching article on his other wrist, and the oddity of this where it stands out amongst his otherwise normal school uniform, gives you pause. It is this, rather than his valiant effort at a feigned attack that throws you off slightly. Of course, no sooner has this thought passed through your mind, that you remember that- oh yeah, he’s trying to punch you (emphasis on the try). This time, in an attempt to counteract your brain’s stupid thoughts, you go right for Prompto’s face. To your surprise, he dodges, and actually manages to hit you in the side with a swift uppercut. You see his eyes widen when you don’t even stumble, instead, you just grin at him. It did hurt, though, and in retaliation, you take the arm that had punched you and use it to swifty flip him over and land him squarely on his back. Without thinking, you straddle Prompto’s chest, pinning his wrists to the ground. 

There's a whoop from the doorway, but neither of you notice it.

“You’re dead.” You say. Your eyes search his, blue eyes wide, and to your mild horror, there is an aspect of fear in them. Fear of you? He gulps visibly, and that’s when you realise he is breathing heavily, eyes flicking to your hands on his wrists. More specifically, he keeps glancing worriedly at his right wrist. You notice that you’ve pulled the sweatband down slightly, and that the pulse you can feel is fast and flighty. He’s panicking. Immediately, you pull yourself up, and off of Prompto. 

“If you’re gonna hit an enemy, be prepared for a revenge attack.” You say, holding out your hand to help him up, as he still remains on his back on the ground, staring up at you with those blue eyes of hum. “And remember an attack will get you close to an enemy, which can be an advantage to either of you.”

He fiddles with his wristband so that it is more comfortable for him, and then, with a slight hesitation, takes your hand. His hand is soft, but his grip is strong, almost unusually so. You smile reassuringly and to your happiness, he responds in kind. His grin is infectious, and you are glad that he no longer seems scared of you.  

As the other two begin walking towards you to congratulate you, you realise you are still holding his hand and quickly let go. 

“You’ve got a good grounding.” You say, turning to him. “Nothing we can’t improve with a few more sessions. I think the biggest thing we need to work on is helping you to protect your openings when you attack. You’re good at spotting them in your opponent, but you must get better at blocking them for yourself.” 

He nods. “Thank you."

“For kicking your ass?” You raise an eyebrow. “Thank me when you’ve knocked me down for the first time.”

Prompto glances up at you, and your eyes meet his blue ones. “You really think I’ll be able to do that?”

You bump shoulder with him teasingly, and smile. “Sure. You already have the athletic ability needed. You just need more specialised training. Plus, not all your enemies will be as good as me.”

You nod to Noctis, who has now stopped in front of you. “Your turn for a beating, your  _ highness _ .”

He instead turns to Prompto, grinning too. “What about we make it two on one. Or maybe three on one, if you’re feeling up to the challenge?” Noctis nudges Gladio. “What do you say, Gladdy? Want some revenge?”

Gladio rubs his hands together, looking positively delighted. “Oh, this is going to be so much fun.”

You roll your eyes. “You boys don’t seem to learn your lesson, do you?” Slipping back into your fighting stance, you bring your fists up, ready for their strikes. “No weapons, only fists.” 

“Isn’t this a little unfair?” Prompto asks, though he is also smiling. 

“Nope!” Noctis says, popping the ‘p’

“We’re gonna take you apart in one blow.” Gladio warns. 

You laugh, and lock eyes directly with Prompto. “I can take you apart with less than that.” 

Prompto’s blushing laugh, combined with the other’s guffaws behind him, ring in your ears as they take their swings at you. Even when you dodge out of the way and aim your own blows you’re still laughing. 

* * *

The training sessions continue, but outside of these sessions, you don’t see Prompto often. Despite Noctis’s insistence that he does come to the flat pretty much every day, the nature of your job, and your own sparring sessions with Gladio mean that by the time you get home most days, he’s returned to his own home. You enjoy his sunny and determined personality in training, and wish that you could get to know him a little better than just how well he’s able to throw a punch. 

Still, you get little glimpses. The photos Noctis shows you of their school, the arcade, the lake. In some, Noctis is grinning at the photographer. In others, he’s been photographed unawares, and soon you notice that Prompto’s photographs begin to include both Gladio and Ignis as well; visiting the park for a picnic, cooking in the flat, and even some of training. It takes you by surprise when you find the picture of you and Noctis sparring. The expression of Noctis’s face is hardly unusual, he’s grimacing in exertion, his weapon held up against yours. What does alarm you is the look of ferocity on your own face. It corresponds fierce determination, yes, but also a faint animalistic look which makes you uncomfortable. Is that what Prompto saw? Is that why he was so scared the first time the two of you sparred? Luckily, most of his hesitation has seemed to have worn off over the time you have spent together, but you can’t help but feel a little guilty. A little bit of friendly intimidation is fine, but you want to terrify your enemies, not Noctis’s friends. 

Either way, you do not get much of a chance to really talk to him properly, partly due to a combination of factors, but mostly due to Noctis’s upcoming 18th birthday celebrations. These were prepared well in advance, much to his charaign and your amusement. Instead of a party in a pub where he would be allowed to get (legally) smashed for the first time, he would in fact be having-

“A ball?” 

Ignis nods in the face of Noctis’s incredulity. He turns to you, utter bemusement on his face. 

“My dad wants to have a  _ ball _ ?” 

You shrug. “Maybe it’s a bride finding ball. Maybe he’s hoping you find the love of your life in the crowds of celebrities and foreign dignitaries.”

Noctis turns beetroot red and buries his face in his hands. 

“This is the worst.”

Ignis face suddenly becomes blank, in the way that you know means he’s about to drop a huge bomb and doesn’t want anyone to know he’s laughing about it. Noctis notices when he lifts his head again, and groans.

“Oh come on, how could this get any worse?”

“Your father has requested you attend dancing lessons. The first session is tomorrow.”

You don’t hear his response over your own howling laughter, but you can hear Ignis’s amused chuckles. 

“Oh, I neglected to mention.” Ignis adds as he motions to leave. “The lessons are for both of you.” 

Now it was Noctis’s turn to laugh as you splutter in indignation. 

Two months later, on the night of Noctis’s birthday in question, you turn to Ignis, who is standing at your side as the pair of you survey the inhabitants of the room, and say, calmly.    


“I am going to kill the King.”

Ignis doesn’t even blink at this. “I wouldn’t do it here. It would rather put a damper on the evening.”

In terms of splendor, the evening certainly embodied that. Sparkling chandeliers light up the room, which was decorated with black banners emblazoned with the Royal Crest. The Crystal was on full display, unusual to see, but nonetheless was casting its blue light over the ballroom, reflecting off the chandeliers, and absorbing into the black drapes, giving the entire room a rather enclosed feel for such a large room. The majority of the room was occupied with dancing couples, while the remainder of those present who had found themselves without a partner were clustered at it’s edges. On one side of the room was a band, their elegant music sweeping over all, and on the other side was a laden buffet table, with the best of what the Royal Kitchens had to offer strewn across it. Dotted around the room were the odd servants, carrying around trays of drink and nibbles. You swear, the only good part to royal functions was the nibbles. 

The King, currently accompanied by both Noctis and Gladio’s father, was deeply absorbed in conversation with the ambassador from Accordo and her partner. Noctis was doing a rather good job (for him) of being seemingly as interested in the conversation as he was meant to be, but he still looked uncomfortable. He was wearing an all black suit that had been fitted to his size, designed with a pattern to distinguish it from his father’s, whose was plain but evidently expensive. More to your own amusement than his, he had managed to be forced into a bow tie that matched the jacket he wore. The jacket itself was intricate, silver stitching illuminating the design, so that it looked like tiny constellations themselves had decorated his clothes. Yet, even with that elegance, he was tugging on the sleeve, in that careless manner of his. He looked immensely thankful when Gladio appears at his side to whisper something in his ear. From the other side of the room, you couldn’t hear what was being said, but you watched with amusement as he bowed politely to the ambassador, before turning away. As he did so, his father caught his arm, and spoke to him. Now you were annoyed that you couldn’t hear what was being said, but you watched as Noctis’s eyes seemed to flicker to you before rolling his eyes. His father gave him one last pat on the back before resuming his conversation, and navigating their way through the crowd of dancing couples, made their way over to you. You take in what Gladio is wearing, now that he is closer. It’s a formal version of his official Crownguard outfit, spruced up a bit. Ignis too, is simply wearing a more formal version of his usual suits. You and Noctis, on the other hand have both been forced into extravagant outfits, you you imagine that Noctis required a lot more forcing that you did. Contrary to what your friends believed, you did actually like the dress you were wearing. You just didn’t like the event, or why you had to wear it. Though, it was definitely more bearable for you that it was for Noctis. 

You snort at Noctis’s expression. 

“This is the worst birthday ever.” He groans, and the three of you laugh. 

“You look good though.” You say. 

He frowns and adjusts his bow tie. “I look like my dad.”

Ignis frowns. “That’s not necessarily a bad thing.”

“It is if I want to get a date!” 

“Noct, you’re the prince.” You say, smiling. “Everyone wants to dance with you.”

“Except for you, huh?” He raises his eyebrows, and Gladio nods. 

You shrug. “I don’t know. If you wanted to outrage your father, we definitely could. That's what he wanted, wasn’t it?”

Noctis nods, pulling a face. “He wants me to dance with someone, at least.”

As he speaks, you notice that he glances up at the doors, then pats the pocket where his phone is, as if checking for something. Or someone. A date he didn’t tell you about?

“Oh man, I can’t wait to see Noctis try to dance.” Gladio chuckles, interrupting your train of thought. 

“Hey! I can actually dance really well!” Noctis protests. 

“Yeah, right, Mr two-left-feet.” You snort. “Back me up here, Iggy, you’ve seen his lessons.”

“He did  _ waltz  _ all over you in the first session.” Ignis replies seriously, eliciting a groan from the rest of the group. 

“I’ll have you know, I can do whatever you can do backwards and in high heels.” You say proudly. 

“What if we were to try and take you down?” Gladio teases. 

“Oh please.” You sigh, rolling your eyes. “I could take you down in this dress and higher heels, right now in front of everyone.”

“Is that a challenge?” Gladio says, waggling his eyebrows.

“Only if you make it one-”

“Absolutely not.” Ignis interrupts. Then when you both make disappointed faces, he amends. “Not until the evening is over, anyway.” 

“But that’s hours away!” You whine, but stop when you look at the serious look on his face. “Fine. I won’t beat anyone up.”

“What about a dancing challenge?” Ignis suggests. “Then you can satisfy your apparent need to compete against each other, and then Noctis fulfils his majesty's wish to have him dance.”

Gladio grins, and claps Ignis on the back. “That’s the first sensible thing you’ve said all evening, specs.” 

Ignis readjusts his glasses from where they have jolted forward. “I wouldn’t call it sensible.” he mutters, but you are already grabbing Noctis by the arm. 

“So what are we competing against?” You ask. 

Noctis is the one to answer, an impish smile spreading across his features.

“Whoever is the most scandalous.” 

You fake gasp, even as you feel your features splitting into a smile. “Oh, you’re on.” 

Ignis groans, running a hand over his eyes. “This already appears to have backfired.” 

Gladio catches him by the arm and begins to drag him towards the dance floor. “Come on, we’re up first. Don’t be a spoilsport.” 

Ignis’s protests fade as the pair vanish into the crowd. You and Noctis watch their dance play out in barely suppressed fits of giggles. Ignis gets dipped so many times he begins to look a little green. At one point Gladio tries to spin him, resulting in a wide berth of several metres being observed by the rest of the dancers. There is barely veiled relief on Ignis’s face when Gladio sets him on the ground at the end of the dance, and you get the feeling that the sentiment is echoed throughout the room. Ignis, to his credit, manages to regain his composed expression before he reaches your group again. You are clutching at Noctis in hysterics. 

“I concede.” Ignis says immediately. “I did not consent to public humiliation.”

“Does that mean we win by default?” Noctis asks. Ignis shakes his head. 

“I had to do that, and therefore so will you.”

You tug on Noctis’s arm. “Come on,  _ babe _ .” You tease. “Let’s give them a show.”

It’s a mark of your friendship that you are able to positively grind yourself against Noctis and the only thing he does is laugh. From the glimpses you get of the spectators to your little show, the reactions range from shock (Most of the council members) to amusement (Gladio) to quiet exasperation (The King). At the end of the dance, the pair of you are breathless from exertion as well as laughter as you make your way back to the group. 

You can see Gladio’s shoulders shaking with laughter, Ignis’s expression of fond ire, and a third, surprising figure standing with the other two; a figure you did not expect to see tonight. 

“Prompto!” You say, delighted. “What the hell are you doing here?”

“I invited him.” Noctis says. “It  _ is  _ my birthday.”

“I called you, but you were busy.” Prompto says. “Gladio made them let me in.” He blushes a little. “Nice, uh, dancing” 

You and Noctis begin giggling again, so much so that you think your stomach actually hurts from laughing too much. 

“I think we put on a good show.” 

“I hope Gladio explained what we were doing.” You address Prompto, who laughs as well. 

“No, he didn’t.” He answers, seemingly bemused, and you glare at Gladio, who shrugs. 

“A scandal competition.” Noctis answers, and Prompto laughs, more genuinely this time, understanding spreading across his face. “I think we won.”

Ignis nods, seemingly relieved that the competition is over. “I’ll say you did- no Gladio don’t argue, and don’t you dare suggest a rematch.”

Prompto looks at you quizzically. “They danced before. Ignis got dipped.” You shoot him a grin. “I’m not sure Ignis was entirely swept off his feet.”

“I wasn’t” Ignis grumbles, and you roar with laughter, glad to see that Prompto and the rest of the group, sans Ignis, does the same. 

You eye Prompto up and down. The suit, though by no means new, looks good on him. You recognise it a second later as an older one of Noctis’s. With the jacket, black dress shirt and tie, he fits in well, surrounded by other party goers also dressed in the royal colours. You don’t think anyone would guess that he wasn’t technically supposed to be here. For the first time, you imagine what it would have been like to have the nervous Prompto be escorted into the ball by the determined Gladio. No doubt he frogmarched him in, not wanting to miss a second of you and Noctis’s ‘performance’ “You scrub up well.”

He blushes, glancing over at Noctis. “Thanks. You too. That dress really suits you.”

Ah yes.  [ Your dress ](http://actualenjolras1832.tumblr.com/post/156500100467/yaoionice-miichan-yamagusuku-i) . It isn’t black, like the majority of outfits in the room. Instead, it is a deep blue, studded with silver to make it look like stars. It looks like the reflection of the sky in the sea, and was an attempt to reflect your origins; blue, for Tenebrae’s sylleblossoms, and the stars, technically for the Lucis family, but really, in your mind, they are for Luna. Around your chest, the fabric changes into a more corset like shape in a more greeny blue, accenting your figure, decorated with an intricate pattern. The dress’ trail is so long that it entirely covers your legs and feet, even with the added inches of the high heels you are wearing. You didn’t even have to shave. 

“I know.” You smile at him. “That’s why I’m wearing it. Thank you.” You shoot a glare to Noctis. “No one else has bothered to compliment my dress.” 

And then, because you are giddy from dancing and hyped up on your success, you hold out a hand to Prompto, while Noctis splutters incoherently in denial in the background. 

“As a reward for being the only person with some manners around here, do you want to dance?”

Prompto starts, fiddling a little with the sleeves of his suit. 

“I’ve never danced before.” He admits, nervously. 

Noctis elbows him. “You’ll be great!”

“I’ll lead. And it’s easy once you get the hang of it.” You say, going for reassuring, then you falter a little at his worried expression. “If you don’t want to, you don’t have too.”

Prompto shakes his head, smiling at you, the nervousness not entirely vanishing off his face.. “No, I want to try it!”

You raise your eyebrows. “Alright.”

Carefully, he takes your still outstretched hand, and you lead him to the dance floor. 

“Put your right hand on my waist.” You instruct, as the rest of the couples take their places in preparation for the music to begin. He does so, and in turn you put a hand on his shoulder, and then link your free hands together. 

“What if I step on your feet?” He asks, as the violins begin. 

“You won’t. I trust you.” 

Slowly, the pair of you begin to move back and forth. “Just imagine you’re in a box.” You say. “Back two, right two, forward two, left two.” You say as you move your body in the pattern, careful not to bump into any of the other couples. 

“That’s not too hard.” Prompto says, relaxing a little. 

“Yeah, now we add spinning.” You say, beginning to twirl the two of you in a slow circle. You feel his hand tighten on his waist. 

“Relax. You’re doing great. Like a natural!” You joke. 

“I’ve been helping Noct to practice.” He admits, ducking his head a little.

You laugh. “No wonder he was so good earlier. I knew he must have been sneaking a few extra sessions in. Twirl me.”

He dutifully lifts his hand up and you spin until you feel Prompto’s hand on your waist again. He pulls you a little closer than expected, and you bump torsos.

“Sorry!”

“It’s alright.” You reassure him, continuing to spin. 

“Where did you learn to dance?” He asks.

You shrug slightly. “The same place I learned to fight. Tenebrae. Luna and I were always forced to attend these functions, and we were taught to dance from an early age.”

“Oh.” He says. There is a lull in the conversation. Then he asks. 

“Do you miss it?”

You hesitate for a second before responding. “Sometimes. But I have people here now. I have the boys. I have Noctis. I have you.” You smile, slightly shyly. Then you remember where you are in the dance. 

“A lift is coming up.” You say, a note of urgency creeping into your voice. “Both hands on my waist, then one, two, three- yes!” He lifts you off the floor, but doesn’t spin you like he was supposed too. You figure it’s your fault for not telling him. Prompto glances around as you rearrange his hands back into their original positions. 

“Everyone’s looking at us.” He whispers suddenly. You take a quick survey of the room, and yes, he’s right. A good portion of the room has its eyes fixed on you. 

“No.” You shake your head. “They’re looking at you.” He looks startled, even a little worried, at this revelation. Annoying, particularly as he had started to relax.  

“Why?” Prompto asks. 

“No one knows who you are.” You explain, smiling to try and reassure him. “A mysterious handsome stranger, come to sweep the lost noble of Tenebrae off her feet. Speaking of which, lift, now!”

This time, he does spin you whilst lifting you, though that may be due to the suddenness of the instruction. 

“Why does that even matter?” He questions. 

“Propaganda.” You answer simply. “This whole ball is to rub it in the face of the Niffs that we have an heir and they do not. The dance between Noctis and I? It shows them that despite them conquering my people, my country still stands allied with Lucis over the Empire. You, on the other hand, no one knows who you are. For they know, you could be another long lost royal. The lost Prince of Niflheim perhaps?"

Prompto looks a little disturbed by this, and you rush to reassure him. “Or they think you look handsome as hell in that suit.”

This elicits a smile, and his hand squeezes yours. “You really think so?”

“A handsome Prince straight out of a fairytale.” You affirm “These balls are like myths. Who knows who you might end up falling in love with?”

Prompto doesn’t laugh at the joke, his hand instead tightening on your waist, and as you spin, you worry that you didn’t make your intent clear. Yet, even as you open your mouth to speak, you find yourself unable too. The music picks up into its climax, and suddenly, you aren’t leading Prompto anymore. The two of you are moving in tandem, swept up in the music. You are all too aware of how his hand shifts from your waist to your lower back, pulling you closer to him with every step. In your heels, you are almost eye to eye, if slightly smaller than him. This close, you have never been more aware of the difference. As if by instinct, he holds out one arm, and you spin, and when he catches you again, you find yourself pressed up against his chest, far closer than you ever intended. You can feel his heartbeat through the layers of fabric, his steady hand on your back, and you cannot look away from the intense stare of his crystalline eyes. The room spins around you, faces and figures blurring into the background, until it seems that it is only you and him, pressed together, the only people in the whole world. It doesn’t matter if people are staring, if they care how close the two of you are. Prompto is right there, barely inches away, and the lights are making his eyes sparkle and his hair turn ghostly white. You can count every one of his freckles. 

Suddenly, you become aware of the music, or rather the absence of it. 

“Bow!” You whisper in haste, and the moment is broken. You push yourself away from him so you are at arm's length again, and drop into a practiced curtsey just a second behind the rest of the ladies on the dance floor. 

When you look up again, he comes out of a sloppy, if somehow graceful bow, and his eyes meet yours again for a split second. To your horror, you begin your cheeks beginning to warm. It’s the drink. It has to be. 

In spite of this, you take his hand and lead him off the dance floor. 

“You win.” Is the first thing out of Gladio’s mouth when you come within earshot. 

“Win what?” Prompto asks, as you feel equally as confused. 

“The scandal competition, of course!” Noctis says, grinning. “How close did you two get? I think half of the audience were swooning.”

“Oh shut up!” You say, taking a swipe at him. 

“Hey!” He whines, even as he ducks away from your reach. “Isn’t it illegal or something to hit the Prince on his birthday?”

“I’m not a Lucian, your laws don’t apply.” You say, before taking a lunge at him. You manage to smack him lightly on the back of the head before he dances out of the way again, laughing. This teasing, this usual routine; it makes you feel a little normal again, makes your heart stop beating so fast, though why it is, you have no idea. The dancing wasn’t that strenuous. Perhaps it was having an inexperienced partner- which reminded you. 

“Hey.” You say, turning back towards Prompto, who also seems a little flushed. Maybe it was more taxing than you had thought. “You did great out there.”

“We won!” He puts his hand up in an approximation of celebration. 

You shake your head. “That’s not what I meant. You’re actually a pretty good dancer, for a beginner.”

His eyes light up. “You mean that?” 

You nod, smiling. “Sure! A little more practice and some lucky girl has got herself an excellent dance partner!” 

When you go to bed that night (or early the next morning) you find yourself replaying that fraction of the conversation over and over to yourself. You don’t understand, as you lie awake because of the soreness of your feet, or because of Noctis’s snores (he got a little more drunk than he intended to be) why your heart gave a little lurch as you watched Prompto’s expression shift into something that was simultaneously hopeful and despairing at the same time. Your slightly inebriated mind resolved to interrogate him in the morning, but when you woke up the next day (this time to Noctis’s groans as he discovered what a hangover was) the thought was quickly wiped from your memory. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'M ALWAYS A SLUT FOR BALLROOM SCENES. 
> 
> Anyways, I hope you all enjoyed. Please leave a comment and/or kudos if you enjoyed. Hit me up on tumblr at actualenjolras1832.tumblr.com if you wanna yell about anything to/at me. I'm always open to conversation, about anything. 
> 
> And as always, I will see you next Wednesday!


	6. (whenever you're in trouble will you) Stand By Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Here begins the road trip. Start as you mean to go on, I guess.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally! We are on the road, and into the main game! WHOOO!!!
> 
> I'm sorry this update is so late, I'm literally writing this with just 30 mins to spare until it isn't wednesday any more! (I know the formatting on this chapter is a little off but I'll fix it tomorrow when I'm not about to pass out from sleep)
> 
> Also I don't know if you guys saw my little status update over on my blog (actualenjolras1832.tumblr.com hint hint) but I've now officially buggered up my update schedule- I have a very haphazard way of writing chapters, which means chapters 8,9 and most of ten are pretty much written and ready to go, but 7 had maybe three lines so far? So next week's update may be late but I promise I'll be back on track as soon as I can be!
> 
> Either way, this chapter made me nearly pull my hair out- There are definitely some parts that could do with revising, and after this chapter and next chapter, there is no way in hell I'm doing so much canon dialogue again. It takes so long!
> 
> Anyway I do hope you enjoy the chapter, as late in the evening as it is. Thank you all so much for your comments and kudos- I appreciate every single one!

“It’s not going to work.” You sing-song, closing your eyes in the glare of the sun above you. Lying on your back, feet up on the car door of the Regalia so that your bare legs don’t get painfully stuck to the leather seats, the sun blazes down on you in a way that it doesn’t quite manage to do back in the Crown City. Gladio just huffs in response, and you can picture him sticking out a hand as the roar of an approaching car gets louder. As you hear it get loud, and then begin to fade again, you smirk, even though you know he can’t see it. 

 

“I think we can forget about hitching our way there.” Gladio grumbles, his hand smacking into his side in annoyance. From the road behind you, you hear a groan from Noctis. “I thought people were supposed to be friendly outside the city.”

 

“You can only go so far on the kindness of strangers.” Ignis says, pragmatically. 

 

You feel Gladio slap you lightly on the top of your head. 

 

“Hey!” You reach up to respond, but he’s already moved out of range. You sit up, irritable, as he declares “Just gonna have to push her all the way.”

 

There is a dramatic gasp from the right of the car, and you glance over to see Prompto lying on his back as if he has passed out. “I’ve already pushed myself... to the brink of death”

 

“Oh, don’t be so dramatic.” You snort, reaching out and pulling yourself to your feet. Even standing, with shoes on, you can feel the heat radiating off the cement, and you wonder how Prompto can stand lying on it.  

 

“Oh get up.” Gladio kicks Prompto’s ankle. “C’mon, the car isn't gonna move itself!” 

 

Prompto groans, and unhappily pulls himself to his feet. “I thought the car was supposed to move us.”

 

From the other side of the car, Noctis’s head pops up, also looking distinctly disgruntled. 

 

“Wouldn’t that be nice.” He mutters, moving himself to the driver's side of the car, placing his hands on the side, ready to push.  

 

“Can it.” Gladio orders. You reluctantly adopt a pushing position behind Prompto  “Ready, steady, PUSH!”

It takes a second, muscles straining under the heat, sweltering in your black clothes, but then the car begins to move, slipping along to the tune of Prompto’s annoyed moaning. 

 

“Why is this thing so heavy…?”

 

“This is the worst.” You mumble under your breath, as the hot metal burns your palms. 

 

“It’s unbelieveable.” Noctis agrees from the other side of the car, flashing you a smile that’s halfway between amused and annoyed. 

 

“Not exactly a fairy tale beginning, huh, Prince Noctis?” Gladio teases from the back off the car, strain evident even in his voice. 

 

“I think we got a little carried away.” Ignis says from the front seat, and you think you hear a trace of smugness. He had been the one to warn them against the blistering heat that the Regalia would be unused too after the years spent in the walled off Crown City. 

 

“Look, these things happen!” Prompto pipes up, a little too optimistically for your taste. 

 

“I just hope this isn’t some kind of omen.” You say, darkly. “If you can’t even keep your car running, what does that say about your future marriage?”

 

Instead of responding to your teasing remarks, Noctis shouts over his shoulder. “Hey, Gladio?”

 

“What?”

 

“Do me a favour and push this thing by yourself!”

 

“All by myself?” 

 

“You wouldn’t even notice if we just let go…” Prompto says, the grin evident in his voice. 

 

“He’s right!” You laugh, though it is cut off sooner than you normally do, due to the exertion of pushing the car. By the Six, you're already sweating. 

 

“Don’t even think about it, any of you.” Gladio warns, and you swear you feel the car get heavier, the movement slowing as Gladio leans back from pushing the car with his full strength for a second. 

 

“Oh come on!” You complain. Laughing, you feel him push back on the car again, and you turn your head to give him a dirty look. 

 

“Do save some breath for pushing.” Ignis says. Noctis responds immediately. “Iggy, c’mon, time to switch!”

 

You have to bite back another laugh you don’t have the breath for. The Prince, begging with his advisor to let him have a rest from pushing his own damn car.

 

“No way!” You say. “We’ve only been pushing for five minutes.” 

 

“Yeah, we just switched back there” Gladio adds. 

 

“And, it’s my turn Noct.” Prompto smiles smugly. 

 

“His turn.” Ignis agrees, leaning back in his seat, one hand on the wheel, doing his best to look relaxed. You swear he’s doing it on purpose. 

 

“My hands are killing me!” Prompto complains a moment later. 

 

“Same.” You say. “I’m blaming Noct if I have blisters tomorrow.”

 

“If you two keep complaining, I’ll kill you with mine.” Gladio threatens. You aim a kick at him, but he’s just out of reach. He smirks at you when you miss, causing you to poke your tounge out at him. You instantly regret it, as the heat of the day removes any and all moisture from your mouth, leaving literally gasping for a drink. Due to this, you refrain from entering the conversation again, and slowly tune out your surroundings to concentrate on keeping your breathing in check. 

 

You slip into daydreams easily enough; most are, as you expect, about Luna. Not in a dirty sense, that was certainly not your area, but more casually. Like, what would she be wearing today? Her traditional white dress for her Oracle duties, or would she be wearing something different if she was travelling to Altissa? Would she be sending a message in the book today? Would she run her fingers through her hair, as you so longed to do? Would she smile, and if so, at what? You imagine her reading your last letter, fingers gently caressing the page, a smile curling on her lips. Would she have laughed at your jokes, at the lines of prose scribbled with haste on a page? You had enclosed a flower; a forget-me-not from the palace gardens. 

 

_ When we see each other again, I’ll tell you what it means. _

 

A bitter taste comes to your mouth; all of that was now for naught. A day after sending the letter, mouth dry and palms slightly sweaty as you hid it inside the scrapbook as always, you had received word of the offer of peace. And of the terms that had come with it. 

 

You hadn’t expected Noctis to be married before you; you were older, a much more desirable political wife, had you not turned down every single mention of marriage before a formal alliance could be agreed. 

 

Despite the knowledge that he must, you hadn’t ever really expected Noctis to be married at all; the idea was absurd, preposterous, he was still so young. You don’t even think he had ever had a serious relationship before his engagement. 

 

The speed at which he had agreed could only indicate one thing. 

 

Your little brother, your best friend, was in love with the love of your life. It seemed that all the heavens above were out to get you. 

 

You had considered that it could have been him facing his duty, and surely that must have been a part of it. Noctis was neither ignorant enough not selfish enough to put aside a chance at peace due to personal preference. He definitely wasn’t happy that he was being forced to marry under the directions of Nifelheim, but he was not adverse to his choice of bride. 

 

And neither, did it seem, was Luna. You still remember her letter to you that had arrived barely a day after the announcement. 

 

_ This may not have been the way I would have liked it, but it what we must live with now. I love Noctis enough to marry him, and I can imagine a future with him at my side. This, for now, is enough happiness for me.  _

 

You should have expected it; it was only natural for the two of them to grow close, to fall for each other through words and pictures, as you had done. You were only upset that you hadn’t seen it sooner, hadn’t noticed the fondness of their communications, the softness of Noctis’s face when you had discussed Luna. No, upset wasn’t the right word. Devastated. Torn apart. You had rather wanted it to rain, to stroll along the river running through the park at night, to stand underneath the lamp light, and let the raindrops disguise your tears. Of course that would have been overly dramatic, but hey, what else are you going to do when you had your heart broken? Cry inside into a bowl of cookie dough ice cream? (It was in fact, chocolate fudge, not cookie dough)

 

The day after receiving the news, you had gotten up, cleared the empty ice cream tub away, and went straight to the palace to declare your intention to accompany the Prince to his wedding. Since then, you hadn’t actually had a chance to talk to Noctis properly about his engagement. You had spent the time planning with Ignis, helping Gladio to train Prompto up so that he was prepared for life outside the Wall, a programme that included both him and you being fitted for Crownsguard uniforms. This, too, was upsetting; the Glavies were disbanding, with your career aspirations now in tatters. It didn’t help that you now felt more disconnected from Luna than ever, dressed in the full black of the Lucian royal colours, rather than your usual blue attire, the colour of your noble house, and of the royal family of Tenebrae. 

 

Still, at least you could come at all. Even if you could no longer confess your undying love to Luna when you saw her again, you  _ would  _ see her again. That was certain. 

 

At least it was Noctis who was to be her husband. At least you would keep her in your life. But you knew, in this moment, that you would never be satisfied with the choices others had made for you.

 

Prompto’s excited shout of “There it is!” jolts you out of your thoughts. No time for wallowing. You need to focus on the problem at hand; fixing the damn car. 

 

You collapse beside the car the moment you feel that it is sufficiently inside the garage. You are not pushing this old rust bucket one inch further that you have to. 

 

Noctis lies next to you, panting slightly. “Didn’t I train you better than this?” You ask. 

 

“You didn’t train me to push cars.” Noctis replies. 

 

“Just how to save your life.”

 

Noctis’s reply is cut off by an unfamiliar southern drawl, a happy voice that makes you sit up to look for the owner. 

 

“Well, y’all know how to keep a girl waitin’”

 

The girl in question places her hands on her hips, and looks around expectantly, her short blonde hair bouncing as her head swings from side to side. 

 

“Apologies.” Ignis says, and you watch him move out of your line of sight to approach the woman. She doesn't seem to be particularly interested in his apologies, as she waves away his words. 

 

“Now, which one of you is the Prince?” she asks instead. You grin at idea that she thinks Noctis is in charge here, but regardless you poke him in the side, and groaning, he reluctantly gets to his feet. 

 

Her green eyes light up upon spotting him, and you see her smile for the first time. Wow. She’s fucking  _ stunning _ . Not really your type, but you definitely have a thing for blondes. Unfortunately, even though you too are now getting to your feet (the presence of a lady, after all), all her attention is fixed on your charge. 

 

“Hello your Highness. Congrats on your wedding.” She says cheerfully, with a deep southern accent. Noctis flushes slightly in embarrassment, and avoids her gaze.

 

“Not hitched quite yet.” He says. She doesn’t seem to care and continues in a slightly admiring voice. 

 

“Wow, Lady Lunafreya’s bride-to be here in Hammerhead.” 

 

Seeing as Noctis is currently not speaking, you step in. Gods, even when she looks at you, you blush. Oh, a pretty girl could turn your head any day, even if you knew that it was unattainable.

 

“We’re sorry it took so long.”

 

She waves off your apology with a smile. “Best save your apologies for Paw-Paw.”

 

Gladio steps forward inquiring/ “Well, that makes you…?”

 

“Cindy” She says. “Cid’s grease monkey granddaughter”

 

A rough, gravelly voice from behind her draws the group's attention. 

 

“Roll ‘er in while I’m still young!” 

 

Ah, this must be the infamous Cid. He’s older than you expected; from what you knew, he was an  friend of the King, and while the King aged faster due to the maintenance of the wall, he still looked a lot younger than the old man that stood before you now. He eyes the party with a critical eye, though to you it seems slightly saddened. His gruff voice quickly dissuades you of this notion. 

 

“Didn’t yer daddy tell ya? She’s a custom classic, not some beat up ol’ clunker.” 

 

Cid steps forward and regards Noctis before speaking again. Again, he seems to see Noctis, but also… not see him. He frowns slightly, placing one hand on the car. All of a sudden, you realise that he knows this car. When he says custom, that means that he is most likely the one to have done it. You wonder what type of memoires this must be bringing up for him. Good ones? Bad ones? There must have been a reason why one of the King’s oldest friends has never met his son. 

 

“Prince Noctis.” Cid says. 

 

“Uh, yeah.” Noctis replies. You can only imagine what Cid is thinking; Noctis is dressed in a t-shirt and cargo pants. Compared to Ignis, who insisted on his usual suit, he neither looks like a Prince, or sounds particularly like one. 

 

“‘Prince’ Like they took your old man and kicked the dignity out of him.”

 

Noctis gapes, and you stifle a giggle with your hand. 

 

“You got a long way to go, son. And that slack jaw is gettin’ you nowhere fast.” 

 

You, Gladio and Ignis make eye contact in rapid succession. Ignis seems bemused, while Gladio also appears to be amused, though that may be at Noctis’s goldfish-like response rather than Cid’s words themselves. Prompto seems too preoccupied with Cindy herself, much like you had been. Oh no. Competition. The thought passes through your mind with more amusement than anger; you know that, similar to your own, Prompto’s crushes on the fairer sex were fast and fleeting. Cindy, on her part, pinches the bridge of her nose in exasperation. You have a feeling that when you can stop blushing at the sight of her, the two of you would probably be good friends. She seems nice enough compared to the assholes you’ve met so far outside the Crown City. 

 

Cid moves, and places one hand on the bonnet of the Regalia. He pauses for a moment, before seemingly shaking off any thought that he may have had, and saying “She’s gonna take a while. Y’all get her in and run along.”

 

Slightly affronted at being addressed by a wayward child, you don’t see Cindy turn as if to follow her grandfather, before letting out a sigh when he leaves too quickly for her to follow. 

 

“Y’all heard him.” She says, turning back to smile at your group. To your embarrassment, Gladio notices the blush that creeps up your cheeks unbidden when her gaze turns to you. Standing next to Prompto, he could hardly have failed to notice his behaviour. “Let’s get movin’!”

 

Begrudgingly, you assist the group in pushing the car into the garage, though the opportunity does give you the moment to show Cindy just how strong you are. She either doesn’t notice or doesn’t care, because she then leaves your group outside the garage while she heads inside. 

 

“I can’t believe you two.” Gladio says, shaking his head in disapproval the moment she leaves. “Is five minutes all it takes?”

 

Noctis and Ignis head to the nearest shop, and the three rest of you follow slowly behind. 

 

“Don’t you believe in love at first sight?” You ask, fluttering your eyelashes and clutching your heart dramatically. He simply rolls his eyes. 

 

“I know you.” He says. “You ain't her type.”

 

You gasp dramatically. “Gladdy, how could you?”

 

Gladio snickers, and you change your expression to one of mock devastation. “If only my heart did not belong to another, I would sweep her off her feet! But alas, I am taken. But there is one here who is not”

 

You nudge Prompto with your elbow and he jolts, blushing a little at being caught out. 

 

“Don't be stupid, as if she'd fall for a guy like me… still, if we go on one of those hunts she mentioned, maybe she'll notice me.”

 

Gladio snorts “In your dreams, lover boy.”

 

You pat his arm in a conciliatory manner “Don't be mean Gladio, any girl or guy would be lucky to have him.”

 

You don’t see Prompto’s response to this, as this is when Ignis and Noct rejoins your group, relaying the news that not only are you without transport for the moment, but you are also out of funds. Needless to say, you are unimpressed. 

 

The small ‘quests’ that you take on in return for funds are entertaining more than they are strenuous, though the experience seems to finally make Prompto use his training. Actually being in combat is completely different to your previous training however, and so you make sure to keep a close eye on the blonde as he begins to figure out exactly what he has signed himself up for. Your training seems to have paid off, as you find that, for all Prompto’s exclamations of shock and tremble in his voice, his aim is true and when the situation calls for physical action, he seems capable of taking care of himself. Noctis, for his part, enjoys the freedom, and you grin when you see him use the combat moves that you’ve taught him. 

 

Good. 

 

Therefore, it doesn’t take long before your (now dusty and sweaty) group arrives back at Hammerhead, to the very welcome news that the car is now repaired, and now that you have completed the hunts, you actually have some cash to pay for the repairs themselves, though to your disappointment, and Gladio’s delight, it cannot cover a room for the night. 

 

Gladio, for a city kid, has a strange fondness for camping. With the car now repaired, your tired group makes it’s way to a haven, and sets up for the night. 

 

While Ignis begins to make dinner, you notice Noctis is sitting at the edge of the fire, noticeably further away from Gladio and Prompto that he should be, not joining in their bickering, instead staring deep into the orange flames. 

 

“Hey.” You plop yourself down beside him, and he starts. “You feeling OK?”

 

“Yeah.” He replies “Are you OK?” 

 

You shrug. “It's my job to worry about you, not the other way around. Seriously, what's up?” 

 

He's silent for a moment, but then speaks suddenly.

 

“Do you want to be here?”

 

“What? Of course I do! What would make you ask that?”

 

Noctis shuffles his feet, pointedly not looking in your direction. 

 

“I don't mean… on this trip. I mean, here with… with us.”  _ With me.  _

 

“Noct.” You say. “If this is because of Luna, of all things-”

 

“You're here for her!” He bursts out, voice low. “That's right, isn't it?” 

 

“Gods, Noct, do you really think that low of me?” You ask. “Of course I'm here for her, but that's only a part of it. That's barely half the reason I'm here!”

 

He glances back at you quizzically, genuinely confused. You shake your head in disbelief. 

 

“Noct, how long have we known each other?”

 

“Since… since you came here. Almost-”

 

“Twelve years. And how many of those years have we been friends?”

 

He looks rather flustered, and hesitates before giving an answer. “Since I was...thirteen? Just after you moved out.”

 

“Noct, whatever you think I still blame you for, it doesn’t matter. I’m here on this trip because I want to be here. Right here, right now, with you. Not only because I’m trying to get back to Luna, because I want to be with my friends. With my  _ family _ .”

 

You turn and gesture with a hand towards the other three in your group. 

 

“You’re my brother, Noct.” You say. “I’m not going to leave you simply because I’ve got Luna back.”

 

He flushes, dark red colouring his cheeks. 

 

“And you’re an idiot if you didn’t know that.” You continue with an air of finality. 

 

He meets your eyes sheepishly. “Thank you. You’re like a sister to me, too.” 

 

You snort inelegantly. “Good to hear it.”

 

There is a moment of comfortable silence as you internally debate whether to broach your next conversation. 

 

“Noct… I know we’ve never really discussed Luna, or this marriage, but...I have to ask. Are you happy with it?”

 

Noctis startles; evidently he was not expecting this question. “Are you?”He asks. 

 

“Don’t avoid the question.”

 

When he doesn’t respond to that, you swallow your fears and press on. “Do you love her?”

 

You watch as his fingers twist in his hands, anxiously playing with the cuffs of his jacket. Noctis nervously looks back up at you before answering. 

 

“Yeah. I do.” He says quietly. “I just… I hate that this has to happen on Nifelheim’s terms.”

 

You place a hand on his shoulder, forcing the disappointment and heartbreak to the back of your mind where they belong. You shouldn’t have asked; all it has done is reopen a wound that has barely begun healing. 

 

“I get it.” You say. “I really do.” You take a breath. “Do you have any idea what is going to happen after the wedding?”

 

He shrugs, hanging his head. “I havn’t got a clue. Where Luna goes is up to her.” He looks back up at you again. “And I suppose wherever Luna goes, you go, right?”

 

You open your mouth to reply, but you genuinely don’t have an answer. You haven’t got one; sure, you’ve thought about it, but you haven’t come to any decision. You can’t imagine a life without either of them, and increasingly, you are unable to imagine a life without the rest of your friends either. 

OK, that may be an exaggeration. You can imagine it just fine, but you never want that to be the world you live in. Thankfully, before you are forced to come up with an answer, Gladio’s voice interrupts your conversation with a call to the meal. 

 

Ignis has made a meaty stew that makes your mouth water when you smell it, but as you settle down, and are about to take a huge spoonful, Gladio stands, his cup in the air, as if to mark a toast. 

 

“Really?” You ask. “I’m hungry!”

 

“This’ll only take a minute.” Ignis assures. Somehow, you get the feeling that this was planned, and are immediately suspicious. They’re up to something. 

 

“I want to make a toast.” Gladio says in a solemn voice which, from years of friendship, you can tell is at least half in jest. 

 

“That much is obvious.” You mumble, leaning back in your chair. He ignores your comment in favour of continuing. He clears his throat importantly, and begins to speak in a way that indicates that he has prepared this speech before hand. After a few words, you realise where you recognise it from, and close your eyes for a moment in exasperation. 

 

“I may not live to see our glory.” Gladio says. “But I’ve seen wonders great and small.”

 

Out of the group, it seems that the only person taking this slightly seriously is Noctis himself. He’s going to fall hook line and sinker for this joke, and all because he refused to listen when you tried to play the CD for him. 

 

“And if Noctis can get married,” Gladio continues, grin now starting to spread across his face “There’s hope for all of us after all!”

 

Prompto splutters with laughter, and you do the same, mostly laughing at Noctis’s reaction, which is to groan in a loud and obnoxious manner unbefitting of a Prince, and mutter an annoyed “I really hate you guys.” into the hands now covering his face. 

 

“Holy shit, you totally fell for that!” You laugh. 

 

You're still laughing about it when you go to sleep that night, and laugh about it even more when Noctis is still sullen about it the next morning. 

 

“Look, if you had listened to the CD as I had told you too, then you wouldn't have been so easy to fool” You console as you climb into the seat next to him.

 

He humphs, and ignores you. You elbow him. 

 

His sullenness hasn't worn off by the time the group exits the car to take on a hunt for some extra gil, and this is where you begin to realise that his mood is probably more down to something bigger than just some light teasing. 

 

This is the hunt that causes you to be knocked to the ground with three claw marks in your chest, and a lack of potions ensures that the shallow cuts will scar. 

 

Luckily, by the time you reach Galdin Quay, not only have your wounds pretty much stopped hurting, but Noctis’s mood has improved considerably, even causing him to slip out a bad pun or two. 

 

The change raises the spirits of the group immensely, to your great relief. Putting on a cheerful face for the group is exhausting and it's a lot easier to fake when everyone else is happy. 

 

Galdin Quay is as beautiful as you expected it to be, but honestly you are far too flighty to truly appreciate the five star restaurant and the stunning views. This is your last stop before you see Luna. Very soon, maybe even later today, you would see her again. There is a pit of nervousness and fear settling in the pit of your stomach with every step you take along the Quay. Swallowing back this anxiety and restlessness, you fix a smile onto your face and follow the others. 

 

“I’m afraid you’re out of luck.” The voice behind you gives you pause, and you turn in tandem with the others. 

 

“The boats bring you here, but they will not take you forth.” 

 

In front of you, smiling serenely, is an oddly dressed man, late forties by your count, with a wave of purple hair. He seemed swathed in cloth, the many scarves and robes trailing his figure, hiding his real stature underneath the fabric. The wide-brimmed hat on his head shields his face from the sun’s glare, making his eyes impossible to make out. There is a hint of amusement in his voice, and you cannot shake the idea that you have seen him before. You also cannot shake the uneasy feeling that increases the longer you stare at him, his gaze directly on the Prince standing next to you.  Behind you, Prompto takes a step back, while both Gladio and Ignis move forward. It seems you are not the only one who feels he’s more trouble that his relaxed stance would suggest. 

 

“What’s your story?” Gladio asks.

 

“I’m an impatient traveller, ready to turn ship.” The man replies. 

 

Irritated, you snort in derision. His gaze immediately falls upon you, and as he raises his chin to examine you, you get a good look at his face for the first time. His eyes pierce through you, and you cannot shake the feeling of simply being a specimen under a microscope to him. His eyes widen marginally as he takes in you defensive position in front of Prompto, the way you’ve stepped forward so that you are ready to defend both him and Noctis if the need arises. He somehow seeming a little bit… surprised? If he is, his expression does not shift to show this, a smile instead spreading across his face as he takes the sight of you in.

 

“The ceasefire is getting us nowhere.” He says instead.

 

You shiver when his gaze finally moves from you to Noctis. 

 

“Here.” He says, and throws something straight as Noctis’s head. Both you and Gladio move, but it is Gladio who catches it, just a second before it hits Noctis. To your annoyance, the man’s amusement only seems to grow at this action. 

 

“What’s this?” He growls, evidently growing more and more irritated with this stranger. “Some sort of souvenir?”

 

“They make those?” Prompto gasps, rushing forward to see, but you reach out one arm to hold him back. 

 

“Consider it your allowance.” The man replies, completely unbothered by Gladio’s aggressive tone and your evident wariness. 

 

“Yeah, and whose allowing us?” Gladio demands. 

 

The man waves a hand non-committedly, beginning to turn away, but still keeping his gaze on Noctis. 

 

“A man of no consequence.” The man tips his hat one last time towards your group, and you watch with gritted teeth as he saunters away. 

 

The second he is out of earshot, you speak, but you do not relax your position. 

 

“I don’t like him.”

 

“Agreed.” Ignis says. “Let’s hope we do not run into him again.”

 

You doubt that, but you remain silent. No need to worry the rest of your group with your pessimism. 

 

“Do you believe what he said about the port being closed?” Prompto asks. 

 

Ignis shrugs and turns away from the direction the man walked away. “I’m skeptical, but I won’t discount the possibility.”   
  


“I say we go check it out for ourselves.” Gladio says, and you follow him and the others towards the boats. You glance back once to see where the stranger has gone, but he has vanished, seemingly into thin air. You scan the crowd for his unusual form, but there is nothing. 

 

To your annoyance, this “man of no consequence” appeared to be right about the boats.

 

After a quest of, if you do say so yourself, epic proportions, (Prompto wouldn't stop shaking at the sight of the giant bird, and you couldn't figure out why you felt so worried about this. Perhaps because he was the most visibly nervous.) you get that irritating reporter to secure you tickets for the morning ferry.

 

You do not share Ignis’s concern (“He must have very good connections to be able to get past an imperial embargo”) as instead, you are focusing on the tight ball of fear that has settled in your stomach. Tomorrow, you could be seeing Luna. You would most likely be seeing Luna. 

 

Oh Six, what were you going to  _ do?  _

 

With the gil from the hunts, you find yourself alone in a single fancy hotel room to worry yourself to sleep. The boys had optioned to take the double room next to yours, and while you weren't complaining, you did feel a twinge of jealousy. Here, alone in a separate room with the moon high in the sky, and your usual antidote to Insomnia sleeping in the next room, all you had were your anxieties over tomorrow's meeting.

 

It was only fitting that your nightmares that night included Luna. 

 

_ She was collapsed on a stone dais, waves angrily swirling around her, the only reason she was still marginally upright was her desperate hold on the Oracle’s trident. Fear grips you as you watch her choke and gasp for air, the grip on her trident slipping with every cough that wracked her slender frame.  _

 

_ There is no way to reach her. The platform has been cut off from the shattered pavement you have found yourself on. There is a wall of water splitting you from reaching her, at least ten metres wide. The water itself is frighteningly angry, spraying you, the salt water stinging your eyes as you desperately search for a way across.  _

 

_ As you do so, you hear a roar; but it is not from the water, nor from the monster Luna is facing, but from the horrifying shape of an Imperial dropship bearing down on the platform.  _

 

_ “LUNA!” You scream in warning, but over the noise of the water and the ship, you are inaudible. You are forced to watch as the ship lands, and a familiar figure strolls out, seemingly unconcerned with his surroundings.  _

 

_ The clothes, the dark purple hair standing out against the white and blue froth of the roaring sea, the lazy smile, all of it, sends a chill down your spine.  _

 

_ “Luna!” You scream again, terror in your voice, but now he is coming to bend down next to her, tilting his head sideways in curiosity, regarding her if she is a rather amusing toy.  _

 

_ His mouth moves, but just as your yells have been, the sound is lost to the rushing waves.  _

 

_ You see the glint of steel, the reflection of the light in your eyes registers a split second before you realise what it is. Before you can even scream, his knife is buried in Luna’s gut. Luna’s mouth opens in horror, but whatever noise she makes is drowned out by your own shattering scream.  _

 

_ She tumbles sideways, and you don’t know whether it is the sea or your blood rushing that is causing the roaring in your ears. Luna’s body is limp, and amongst the light blues and the now dirty white of her dress, the crimson blood that is spreading across her torso stark in your vision. You cannot take your eyes off of it, off its deadly spread, the surely certain lethality that accompanies every centimetre tainted by its ever increasing size.  _

 

_ You stagger back from the view, falling to the ground in a mirror of Luna. unable to move, unable to do anything, you can only watch as he tries, once, twice to stand, but only manages to twist herself more in your direction.  _

 

_ He still stands over her, smiling down at his handiwork. He speaks again, and to your horror, Luna turns her head towards you. Her eyes, pupils dilated in pain, and more scared than you ever, ever want to see, find you. Pain has contorted her face into something horrifically beautiful, something that should never ever be, and from here, the tears trace blurry tracks down her cheeks.  _

 

_ You watch her mouth your name.  _

 

_ You watch as the man kicks her once, rolling her onto her back, before stepping onto his ship as she coughs and splutters blood.  _

 

_ All you can fucking do is watch her drag herself across the platform, watch as she reaches the fallen body of Noctis -and gods not him too please, not him too- watch him rise into the air.  _

 

_ Luna’s body slumps forward. _

 

_ As if in slow motion, you follow her hand as it falls, falls from the her grip on the trident, and hits the ground between one beat of your heart and the next. To you, it seems as though this final, dull thud should be audible; it is your heart stopping after all, it is your life being extinguished and brought to naught before your eyes, because you know Luna, and the only reason she would no longer move is because she  _ cannot. 

 

_ You open your mouth to scream, to rage against the dying of her light and- _

  
You awaken, gasping, in a small room. Alone. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much for reading!
> 
> Please leave a comment telling me what you liked/didn't like and I'll try to improve in the future. Don't forget to click subscribe if you don't want to be refreshing your AO3 feed every wednesday waiting for an update, and it'll sent the link straight to your email!
> 
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> 
> And, as always, I will see you next Wednesday!


	7. (doesn't it feel like) Our Time Is Running Out

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Insomnia falls.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please never ask me to write canon dialouge again, it's so boring, and I'm sure it's dull for you guys too. I'm going to try and write new scenes from now on, rather than ones you already know from the game. 
> 
> This chapter is a very long filler chapter, and I'm not entirely happy with the way it ended, but I didn't want to drag it out any longer either. I hope you enjoy it, and please get excited for the next few chapters- I promise they won't drag like this one did!
> 
> Thank you so much for all your continued support!

The dream left you uneasy; a deep feeling of dread in your stomach, one that you weren't quite sure where it had come from. Still, you shook yourself off as you always did, and put on your best smile when you opened the door to the small room with the beautiful view over the morning sun over the sea.

Prompto greets you chirpily when you walk in, coffee in one hand. “Morning!”

“Good morning.” You say. “Any coffee left?”

Gladio takes an obnoxious slurp straight out of the coffee pot, prompting you to respond with a disgusted expression. In the corner, Noctis is curled in an armchair, head resting on his arms, looking like he has slept there all night, even when you know that he hasn’t. Sticking your middle finger up at his as he slurps once more (prompting Prompto to say “Dude, _really?_ ”) you perch, birdlike, on the arm of Noctis’s chair. He attempts to swat your hand away when you ruffle his hair affectionately, but it’s too late. He lifts his head, blinking at the sudden light that his eyes were exposed to.

“Wake up.” You say. “Big day, you can’t spend it all sleeping.”

Noctis groans and tries to bury his head into your side, but you’ve already began pushing him away.

“Come on, you got, what, ten hours of sleep last night? You can’t still be tired.”

Of course, you knew that a combination of Noctis’s connection to the crystal and his childhood injury contributed to his excessive tiredness, but that doesn’t mean you weren't above light teasing on the subject.

“Didn’t” He mumbles. “Had nightmares.”

You ignore the spike of anxiety that runs through you; your nightmare has mostly faded now, but the feeling of dread is still there, and Noctis’s words only serve to let it pulse stronger. Instead of voicing your fears, you say; “What, afraid of turning up at your own wedding in your underwear?”

Noctis finally seems to find the energy to look up at you, blinking the blurriness in his eyes away.

“Ignis would never let that happen.” He says. “It would sully the royal name or something.”

“Strange, I thought embarrassing oneself was a Lucis Caelum tradition.” You flash him a teasing smile. “You seem to do it on a daily basis.”

“Oh, shut up.” Noctis grumbles, sitting up in the chair.

“He rises!” Prompto says, laughing, lifting his mug in a mock toast.

You tilt your head slightly, releasing the sudden absence in the room. “Hey, speaking of Iggy, where is he?”

“Out getting breakfast.” Gladio replies, taking another loud sip.

“You’re foul.” You respond.

“I’m sure that coffee was meant for all of us.” Prompto adds.

Gladio simply shrugs in response, grinning. “Hey, I’m the one that's going to have to calm down Prince Charming over there when he meets his bride again. Iggy’ll be too busy making sure he doesn’t actually walk out there naked”

Raising your eyebrows, you slip from the arm into the chair as Noctis stands, going to stare at the ocean through the window. “Since when have you been the emotional support? You’re the muscle! The tank!”

“You’re going to be too busy reuniting with the Lady Luna to be the emotional support.” Prompto points out.

“Since when have I been the emotional support?” You ask, completely baffled. “I’m the drunk vodka aunt!”

“You don’t drink.” Gladio retorts.

You raise your hands into the air in exasperation “So?”

Before either of them can respond, the door opens, and Ignis enters.

“Breakfast!” Prompto says, starting forward excitedly, but stops when he realises that the object in Ignis’s hand is not food, but rather a folded newspaper. From the chair, you can’t make out the headline. Instead of craning forward like Prompto is, you take in Ignis expression. It immediately hits you that something is very, very wrong. His face is more solemn than you have ever seen it, and you notice that while he glances around at the room, he is avoiding Noctis’s gaze.

You stand up. “What’s wrong?” You demand.

Ignis replies in a heavy voice. “It’s in all the papers.”

Ignis hands it to Gladio, but it is Prompto that reads the headline aloud for yours and Noctis’s behalf, even as you cross the room in hurried strides.

Prompto’s face, previously so excited, has turned to one of shock, and his voice trembles as he reads the two words, two words that are about to turn your life upside down.

“Insomnia.... Falls?”

You are now at Prompto’s side, and you snatch the paper out of Gladio’s hands. Under the headline is a black and white photograph of a huge daemon, it’s shape unfamiliar amongst familiar buildings, white flames from the city surrounding it’s terrifying form.

“Is this your idea of a joke?” Noctis demands.

Prompto continues to read over your shoulder, and as you scan the article, the printed words only serve to increase the sense of terror and panic swirling in your stomach, the shock of the news barely suppressing the fear that you feel.

“I need you to calm down so I can explain.” Ignis says, stepping towards Noctis.

“I’m as calm as I’m gonna get!” Noctis replies, striding forward so he can also see the newspaper. You continue reading, the cold feeling in your gut receding, and the hot flashes of anger beginning to ignite.

“There was an attack.” Ignis explains, as if it wasn’t obvious. “The Imperial army has taken the Crown City.”

You gasp aloud; not at Ignis’s words, but at the sentence you’re just read. Unable to read anymore you step away, backing into the wall. You feel as though the room is closing in around you, your breath coming in short, sharp pants. Prompto shoots you a concerned look, and you fight to get your breathing under control. This isn’t about you. You cannot allow this to overwhelm you. Not now, of all the times, not now.

“As treaty room tempers flared, blasts lit the night sky. When the smoke around the Citadel cleared, the King was found.” Gladio swallows before reading the next word “...Dead.”

You close your eyes at the last word, and try to breathe shallowly.

“No…” Noctis’s voice shakes, and you open your eyes, “Wait, hold on-”

“We had no way of knowing.” Ignis says.

“What, knowing what?!”

“That the signing was last night, that Insomnia-”

Noctis cuts him off, his words desperate. “But, the wedding! Altissia!”

“I know!” Ignis turns to face him, and consequently, you, having moved now to stand just behind Noctis. “That was the plan. Yet the reports of the invasion are the same. How could every headline in the kingdom be wrong?”

You glance at the others. Gladio is still reading the rest of the article intently, as if there is some further information to be gleaned from it other than more Imperial propaganda. Prompto has moved to the window, and in the faint reflection on the glass, you can see a lost expression on his face.

Noctis shakes his head. “They’re lying.”

“Noct-” You try to reach for him, but he moves away. You don’t know whether he is denying the invasion itself, or what it means.

“If only.” Prompto says.

Noctis sits heavily in the chair that you had vacated when Ignis entered the room.

Gladio lets out a breath of exasperation, and discards the newspaper. “What else do we know?”

Ignis only shakes his head and glances in the direction of the crumpled paper.

“Then we can’t be sure until we see it with our own eyes.” Gladio continues.

“Wait, you aren’t suggesting-” You begin, alarm in your voice.

“We go back to Insomnia.” Prompto finishes.

“What-!”

Ignis shakes his head, and you are relieved that he, at least, has some sense. “It might not be safe for us there.”

Prompto turns from the window finally, his face more serious than you have ever seen him. “Might not be safe for us here!”

“Guys, you can’t really think-” You try, but Gladio interrupts you.

“Turn back?” he asks. The room falls silent, and unwillingly you feel your gaze, along with the others, fall onto Noctis. His head is bowed, and he doesn’t look at you, but against your pleading gaze, he slowly nods.

“Yeah.”

“We can’t-!” You repeat.

“What else would you have us do?” Noctis asks, raising his head. “Run? Hide, without even knowing if what we are reading is true?”

“Going back to Insomnia is suicide. It’ll be the first place they look for you! For all we know, this is a ploy to draw you into a trap!”

Noctis stands, face determined, and you know that you aren’t going to be able to talk him out of this.

“I have to know.” With those as his parting words, Noctis leads the group out of the room. You watch helplessly as the others follow him. As he passes you, you catch Prompto’s arm.

“You’re just going to follow him?”

Prompto shrugs, that seemingly lost look still in his eyes. “What else are we going to do?”

* * *

 

The tense silence that falls over the car as the old machine speeds back to the City is stifling. You cannot seem to pluck up the courage to speak, not even to offer words of encouragement or anger.

You want to scream, really, and you are fighting against the rage in you as it begins to grow, hot and familiar. The Niffs had taken one home from you, and now they dared to take another.

You cannot. For Noctis, you cannot. His face is stone next to yours, and it’s barely his face anymore. The animal like snarl that marred his features makes him look less like a righteous avenging prince and more like a monster.

Grief does terrible things to people. It’s your duty now to ensure that Noctis doesn’t trip up, doesn’t take his anger too far, doesn’t end up doing something he will regret.

The others try to break the silence, filling the world with speculation in clipped sentences, but they do not speak of the King. Nor do they speak of Iris, or of Prompto’s parents, or of Gladio’s father and Ignis’s uncle. So many left behind; how many are buried under the rubble of a broken peace, and how many have lived to simply die again at the Empire’s chokehold?

When you leave, take with you all that you love. You had lost everything that you had loved when you were ten years old. You will not make the same mistake twice.

You glance around the car, looking from one to the next. This is what you love. Luna’s locket is still around your neck, and her letters to you are packed in a small, handcarved wooden box at the bottom of your bag. There is nothing left in the city for you, only memories. Hearing ‘the city is lost’ is too big, too immense for you to comprehend; so make it smaller; the small ice cream shop you took Noctis to after training, Prompto’s favorite photography spot over the Eastern Lake, the bar you had to haul Gladio out of one time because he got in a bar fight, Ignis’s small but steadily growing library; is all of that gone?

The Imperial blockade up ahead is simply further confirmation of their worst fears, and selfishly, you hope that this will stop them from going further; you do not want to be caught up in the waves of refugees fleeing the city, nor the waves of relatives heading into the city in search of their loved ones. You do not want to see them when they find out the ones they loved didn’t make it.

Instead, Noctis orders that the car be pulled up a small side road, and when you exit, he barrels into action against unsuspecting MT’s.

You almost feel sorry for them, facing down the rage of a prince grieving for the loss of his father and his kingdom without even knowing what cut them to pieces.

With a jolt, you realise that he’s not the Prince anymore. He’s the King.

Before you can truly begin to process this, you reach the top of the hill, and you are greeted with a full colour, HD picture of the invasion of Insomnia.

Imperial ships are flying in by the dozens, the smoke from still burning fires fogging up the skyline and so many buildings lie in piles of their own rubble. The Wall is gone, its shimmering presence having vanished as if it was never there. Like the Wall itself, any hope of the invasion being simply propaganda by the Empire shattered into pieces.

The group’s horrified silence is broken by Prompto pulling up a news broadcast on his phone. He had been trying for a while, but he must have just got signal. You move closer to listen, attempting to tear your eyes away from the sight of the city. Noctis, you notice, moves closer to the edge as if in a trance, as if he can’t quite believe his eyes. You know the feeling. Next to him. Ignis’s body is rigid as he take in the sight, and Gladio has curled his free hand into a fist as her holds his phone up to his ear.

Overhead, an Imperial ship roars, passing right over your group, but not blocking out the absurdly calm voice of the newscaster, audible enough for everyone to hear.

_“After the attack on Insomnia, reports from the Empire have declared that both Crown Prince Noctis, and the Oracle Lunafreya have now also been declared dead.”_

For the second time that day, ice seems to seep into your stomach, and the world seems to collapse in on you, suffocating you becuase _no, no, she can’t be dead she can’t how-?_

“No.” You gasp out. “ _No_.”

Prompto hurries to turn off the broadcast, but Noctis shouts, uncharacteristic venom in his voice.

“Leave it on!”

In his shock and surprise (and hurt, you register, as the expression flickers across his face at Noctis’s harsh words) Prompto fumbles, and the phone falls.

“Don’t bother!” Noctis snarls, turning back to the skyline, dismissal evident in his every movement.

Both you and Prompto reach for the phone, but it is Ignis, leaning down and handing it back to Prompto, face turned away so he doesn’t even have to look at either Prompto, Noct, or the burning city.

“I’m sorry.” Prompto says in a hushed voice, and you shake your head.

“No.” You say. “Don’t apologise. Noct isn’t dead, so she isn’t dead. I won’t believe it until I see her.”

You turn away from him so that you don’t have to look at the pitying look on his face.

In the silence of your group, broken only by the sounds of sirens, occasional gunshots and distant screams, Noctis’s phone rings.

You hold your breath as he rushes to pick up, because whoever is on the other line could tell you if it’s true, if against your terror, they will confirm what you heard, and if it is true, the question then becomes; do you believe it? Or do you run, abandon everything to find her?

“Cor?” Noctis says, but the name does not give you any relief as it does the others, as you watch Ignis’s shoulders sag in relief fractionally.

“I’m out of the city, with no way back in!” Noctis says in response to an inaudible question and, oh gods, you don’t know if you can take only hearing one half of a conversation. “The news just told me I’m dead, along with Luna and my father!”

The world stops. All you can do is watch is Noctis’s back when his shoulders suddenly clench, his knuckles white as they grip onto his phone. In this haze of panic, the world muted against your fear and the fact you haven’t been able to take a breath since he’s picked up the phone, you feel a gentle hand on your back, reassuring, supporting you and keeping you grounded. You breath out, and Prompto’s image swims into view. You barely have a chance to stutter out a thank you, before Noctis’s speaks again.

“Right.” His voice is tight, the single syllable somehow sounding both taut and broken at the same time. His hand is shaking when he lowers the phone, and he stares out into the middle distance.

“Noct?” Ignis says cautiously, moving forward. “What did the Marshal have to say?

“He’s waiting for us back at Hammerhead.” Noctis replies, words devoid of emotion.

Gladio is the one to task the question that none of them dare to.

“And the King?”

The deafening silence that follows is answer enough in itself. You lean over to try and grab Noctis’s arm as he passes you, leading the group back to the car, but he shrugs you off roughly.

The King is dead. That thought, one that shouldn’t phase you, is one that you never thought would bother you. You knew it was coming. You _knew_. Noctis knew. He had mourned for his father’s death a long time ago; part and parcel of being the Prince. This was different from some peaceful death decades in the future, when Noct was ready to become King. This was the stale taste of broken promises, a treaty in tatters, and the bleeding body of a father staining the marble floor.

“What do we do?” Prompto asks quietly.

“Let him grieve.” Ignis replies.

“For how long?” Gladio asks. “He has a duty-”

“As do we all.” Ignis says, calm in the face of Gladio’s indignance. “We have a duty to him. He is our King.”

The words weigh heavily over your group, and Noctis, slightly ahead, continues forward as if he cannot hear the hushed conversation.

“We can only offer aid. We cannot carry this burden for him; We may only lighten the load. Where he goes, we follow, come what may.”

“And what if-” You say in response to Ignis. “What if he goes where we can’t follow?”

“We won’t let that happen.” Gladio growls.

“What if we have no choice?” You shoot back. “They killed the King, gods knows what will happen if they get their hands on him?”

“They _won’t_.” Gladio replies, and moves away.

Ignis sighs. “Optimism would be appreciated.”

“Oh yeah? Well you can take your optimism and shove it up your-”

“Guys, please!” Prompto cuts in. “We don’t need this right now. Noct doesn’t need this.”

You take a few deep breaths, try and control your temper. “I’m sorry.” You say finally. “I didn’t mean to snap, I’m just stressed. It’s-”

Ignis hold up a hand, pausing your apology, just as Noctis reaches the car.

“It is Lady Lunafreya you are concerned for.”

You only nod in reply, eyes downcast. “For the record.” Ignis says gently. “I find it difficult to believe she is dead. I am confident that we will receive a message from her soon enough.”

“I know.” You say, even though you did not. “I know, I just-”

“If you wish to leave, to seek her out, then we will not stop you.”

You look up, shocked, at Ignis. “You would let me leave? After all that has happened?”

He offers you a tight smile. “She is your duty, as Noctis is ours. I would not begrudge you assuring your fears and leaving to find her.”

“My duty.” You reply. “Is not just Luna. Not anymore. I will not abandon my brother as he grieves just to makes sure that I will not feel the same.”

You swear that Ignis looks a little proud at this, but he turns and gets in the car too quickly for you to comment on it.

* * *

 

When you reach Hammerhead, you find that Cor has left without you, apparently impatient enough to leave for this mysterious Royal Tomb without his charge. Your group follows, Noctis still quiet enough for it to be worrying, and the way he cuts down the random attacks you face along the way does not assuage those fears.

Sometime along the route, you cannot let what you have to say be silent any longer.

“Gladio?” You say softly, resting a hand on his arm. The others are just ahead, focused on getting to the Marshal as soon as possible. He jerks a little, evidently lost in thought, but turns to face you, questions on his face. You take a deep breath before speaking.

“I'm sorry about your father.”

You can feel him tense for a moment. He hadn't said anything, but you had all known when Cor had confirmed the King’s death. If the King was dead, then so was Gladio’s father. It was only the promise of a hurried text from Iris ( **I'm ok. Phone dying. Heading to Lestullum)** that had reassured him that he was not the last one left.

“Yeah” he says, shrugging off your comforting hand. “Thanks.”

“Gladio.” You call after him. “You aren’t alone in this. Please. Don’t grieve alone.”

His fists clench where previously they hung limp at his side, and you know you are unable to push the matter. He turns his face away.

“I don’t need your pity. I have my duty.” He replies.

“It’s not pity-” You begin, but he’s already walked away, and so you lapse into silence.

“Your duty.” you say quietly to yourself “Is exactly what I am afraid of.”

* * *

 

Cor the Immortal was waiting by the Royal Tomb. His Katana hung at his belt, the weapon acting as both a reminder of the reason why he was called ‘The Immortal’, but also the reason as to why he was here.

You could see no visible wounds, but you know that between the Crown City and here, he had seen combat. You could see it in his eyes, hollowed out ever so slightly, the weight of his failure pressing into the curve of his shoulders, lingering every time he addressed Noctis.

He critiques the group and aids them in their combat in equal measure, but the way that he advises them; the way he, in particular, speaks to Prompto, offering small measures of well-deserved praise.

“Marshal?” You query, falling into step with Cor, having finally built up your courage to ask the question. “What’s the status of the Kingsglaive? If the Crown City was attacked, what happen to them?”

He sighs heavily. “Most of the Kingsglaive have been decimated. There were certain sources that suggested up to half of its ranks were imperial plants.”

“No...” You whisper quietly. You think of the friends, well, more like teachers, you have in the Kingsglaive. People you idolised, and some (Crowe) you had short-lived crushes on. Still, you can bear the thought of any of them being dead, let alone traitors. When it came to actually meeting the Kingsglaive, you must have only met them a few times, but since you had seriously begun to pursue a career within it’s ranks, you had seen them more often. Reckless Nyx, determined Libertus who had been returned to the Crown City in barely one piece. Crowe, beautiful, strong and completely unattainable Crowe, with whom you had spent the better part of a year with a stupid crush on, blushing whenever she had complimented your technique, and then gone over to make out with her girlfriend.

Her girlfriend, who was slightly further ahead in the programme than you were, who had been assigned to Cor the Immortal’s squad almost immediately after graduation. A girl who was as cheerful as she was deadly, and twice as determined, who had badgered the commander to let Crowe have a week off for her birthday, which fell on the day after the peace signing. Crowe, who was supposed to be on holiday with her girlfriend, who was supposed to be proposing. Were they all gone?

“Do… do you know who's dead?” you ask, almost terrified of the answer.

“Only a few names. Nyx Ulric, for one. They say he used the power of the ring itself to try to defend the city. Libertus, they found his body. Apparently he had been sent in Crowe’s place to find Lady Lunafreya.” Cor replies solemnly. The news hits you like a gut punch. So many dead. So many of the people you loved and admired, people you had hoped to be friends with, to drink and fight beside, all of them, gone.

This, perhaps more than anything, cements the loss of Insomnia. Everything, all your hopes and dreams, the dreams of a girl who thought she could have a life outside her duty, outside her promises, all dashed to nothing.

“I heard rumors that Titus Drautos betrayed us.” Cor continues, seemingly oblivious to your ever growing grief.

“The commander?”

“Yes. If my source is to believed, Nyx died destroying him.”

So it hadn’t been in vain. That, at least, was a solace. He died a Glaive, died defending Insomnia from traitors.

It didn’t make the pain hurt any less, make his loss any less devastating. But now is not the time to mourn. You have Royal Arms to find. 

“Who's your source?” You say, voice as level as you can make it.

“Crowe. She escorted Lady Lunafreya out of the city, along with her fiancee and a few civilians to boot. She and her partner are under my command now; they’re committing subterfuge reconnaissance in some of the Empire's more strategic bases.”

“Luna’s alive?” You gasp, desperately hoping that this isn't a trick, or a lie.

The Marshal nods at you once, and you release a shuddering breath. The information causes you to release tension in places you didn’t even know were tense.

“And she is protected. Crowe reported that she left with a woman, and that she carried the Ring of the Lucii, along with the Trident of the Oracle.”

A woman…? Gentiana perhaps? It had been years since you had seen the divine messenger, and you were hit with a pang of homesickness amongst the joyous relief that your felt upon hearing of Luna’s safety.

“That's good.” You breathe another huge sigh of relief, then the rest of the information hits you.

"Wait, Luna was in the Crown City?”

Cor nods. “A last minute addition on the behalf of Niflheim; she was meant to be at the peace signing, but the King had ordered that she be taken from Nifelheim custody so that they could not use her as leverage. I do not know exactly what happened inside the city, but it seems that she has escaped unharmed. She had parted ways with Crowe before they found their way to me.”

The news ricochets around your brain. How soon had you and Luna missed each other? By days? Mere hours? Had they passed each other, you on the road and Luna overhead. You curl your hand into a fist. The Six must be laughing at you.

“Tell Noctis.” You say, voice seeming to come from far away. “He needs to know Luna is alive.”

Before you can even register, let alone apologise, for the fact that you had just told Cor, The Immortal, to do something, he leaves your side.

You’ll apologise later. Your mind is too conflicted; joy upon knowing Luna is alive, and fear for her safety. Carrying the Ring of Lucii, practically alone, in a foreign land with no combat training?

You find yourself reconsidering Ignis’s proposal. Should you go? You could find her, go to her. Your reunion could take place in a matter of hours.

No. You decide, as you watch Cor speak quietly to Noctis, Noct’s body relaxing marginally at the news, the tension in his shoulders not so much. You can see how much the news affects him in much the same way; the knowledge that Luna has the Ring, is alone, in need of help, but Noctis cannot go to her, he cannot because they walk separate paths, and always have done. While their fates are intertwined, they cannot interfere with each other’s tasks.

She has the Ring. They have to meet up at some point. You will have your reunion.

 _Forgive me, Luna_ . You think. _Forgive me for keeping your promise._

At least she is safe. At least she is alive.

You have to be thankful for something.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As someone who is running a Crowe RP account, it physically pains me to kill off the Kingsglaive. I'm sorry!
> 
> My tumblr is over at actualenjolras1832.tumblr.com if anyone wants to come chat to me there!
> 
> And as always, I will see you next Wednesday!


	8. (i was a few cheap shots away from) The End Of Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anger is the worst stage of grief.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OK. 
> 
> So. 
> 
> Bad news guys. 
> 
> I'm going to have to slow down updates to once every two weeks- I've not kept to my schedule at all in terms of chapter writing at all, and exams have caught up with me. And this is going to last until the end of June. 
> 
> I'm really sorry, but once every two weeks is the only way I can think of keeping this fic semi-regular and keep on top of my work. 
> 
> If I'm able to write a backlog of chapters within the next few weeks, then I'll go back to once weekly updates, but until then, expect chapters to be a little delayed. 
> 
> Sorry. To make up for it, here is a more exciting chapter than last time, which totally doesn't end on a cliffhanger...

“Noctis!” You hear Ignis shout. “We are down to our last few potions! We cannot sustain this assault!”

You slice your axe through the MT advancing on you, causing it to topple sideways into the one attempting to attack you from the left. You're exhausted, there is blood pouring down the side from your face from an attack you failed to dodge, and your jacket has been torn in several places.

This entire venture had been a mistake, that much was obvious. You were outgunned, outmanned. Five against an entire legion of MT’s, even if the base you had targeted had been smaller than the one you had infiltrated with Cor. Cor. Gods, you could use him right now. All of you, Crownsguard or no, were inexperienced in real battle, and far better at one-on-one combat than you were at fighting off multiple hordes of these things. You were outnumbered here, and even worse, you were out planned. Noctis had insisted on an assault, and while it hadn’t seemed like a particularly good idea, you hadn’t stopped him. 

Now, surrounded by MT’s with no obvious way out, you were beginning to wish that you had. 

“Iggy’s right!” Gladio yells, fighting to keep four soldiers at bay. He swings his long sword recklessly, and the four of them crumple, but they are rapidly replaced. “We’re all gonna get killed if we don't leave now!”

There's a cry from the left and you watch as Noctis pulls Prompto out of the way just in time, before a blade clatters down. Before the MT can attack again, Prompto swiftly drops it with two well aimed shots. 

“Noct!” You duck away from a soldier's spinning attack and end up back to back with the Prince. “You heard them! This fight is a lost cause! We have to leave, now!”

“No!” The Prince says, and even back to back with him, you can imagine the snarl marring his features. 

“Noct!” You shout; you aren’t sure what the word was supposed to convey- fear, panic, frustration? Either way, your cry is punctured by a sudden, alarming clunking sound. To your horror, you feel the weight of a body lean on you, and you turn in time to watch Noctis’s prone body slide to the floor, only stopped by your quick thinking in awkwardly catching him. 

“No, Noct!” You scream. “Noctis!” 

Your shaking fingers quickly grab his wrist as you sink to your knees so as to better cradle his body. For a single, heart stopping second, you cannot find a pulse. Then, as your own heart stutters in fear, you feel it; still strong, still present, and the relief floods you. Of course, that’s when you remember you are on a battlefield. You have no potions on you at all, and even the smallest trickle of blood running down the side of his forehead sends an icy chill down your spine. You have to protect him. You have to get him out of here. 

You look up from your position on the floor and find, to your utmost horror, that you are now being slowly but definitely surrounded by MT’s, their weapons edging closer, hemming you in from every angle. 

Rapidly, you hook one arm so that it is underneath Noctis’s shoulder, enabling you to stand up, support him, and angrily brandish your weapon at the same time. His dead weight drags you down, slowing your movements even as you spin in a circle, taking in all your enemies, threatening each of their cold and uncaring faces in turn. Noctis’s head lolls onto your shoulder, and you feel the blood from his head wound, the one that must have knocked him out, sink into your shirt. 

“Get back!” You snarl. “No one touches him!”

One MT steps forward, its weapon raised. With Noctis’s feet dragging against the floor, you throw yourself forward, and in one smooth strike that the MT is unable to evade, slice its arm clean off. Even with this victory, you know you are going to be unable to hold them all off. Its simply disarmed; that does not mean it is no longer dangerous.

“Ignis!” You screech, because if anyone is going to know what to do, it’ll be him. 

As it happens, it is not Ignis that comes to your aid. While you desperately try to keep Noctis upright, a huge sword swings through the first row of MT’s and they collapse to the floor in smoking halves. 

“Is he alright?” Gladio asks, kicking the sparking bodies out of the way as he heads straight for you. 

“He’s just knocked out.” You assure him. “We have to get him out of here!”

Gladio holds out his arms. “I can take him.” Gratefully, you hand the younger boy over to his Shield, and help to maneuver him so Gladio can both fight and carry him at the same time. 

Ignis has now arrived beside you, Prompto in hot pursuit. Concern is written all over his face.

“Is he-?”

“He’ll be fine.” You repeat. “Ignis-”

“I know.” He says grimly. “The Regalia is this way. We head straight for it, no stopping or diversions.” He points to you and Prompto, who is clutching his gun so tightly his knuckles have turned white. “You two will cover our retreat. Don’t engage unless you have to.”

You and Prompto nod your agreement, both far to focused on getting everyone out of here alive to argue. 

The distance to the Regalia was short, but you knew that it could have been a hundred miles away and still be easier to get to. 

Somehow, with Gladio paving the way with his longsword, Ignis wheeling his daggers at any who approached, and Prompto’s careful marksmanship, the five of you managed to reach the car with none of you having sustained serious injury. Even the MT’s seem to have fallen back for now, and while normally you would be suspicious, right now you can only be thankful it wasn’t harder to reach the car. 

Leaning against a wall about fifteen metres away from the car, you watch in relief as Gladio and Ignis gently lift Noctis into the car. You are watchful, keeping a close eye on the surrounding area; the car, the three nearest, and Prompto just off the the left, a few metres away. 

“Gods, sleeping beauty here is going to get an asskicking when he wakes up.” Gladio says. 

You smile in response, and open your mouth to reply, when two things happen. 

Firstly, you feel a strange presence, a dull ache blooming from a point in your chest to the rest of your upper torso. From this ache, comes the cold, spreading and numbing your entire upper half. 

The second thing you notice is the lack of sound. You can see Prompto’s mouth moving as he turns towards you, but you cannot hear the words spoken. No, you realise, it is not that there is an absence of sound. Your ears are filled with a rushing noise, the blood pumping now overpowering every other tiny noise, the world going quiet for you in the worst way possible. All sound gone, except for one.

 

Drip. 

 

The noise registers, slightly delayed but still present. 

 

Drip. 

 

You wonder, vaguely, as your brain begins to blur and fog up, where exactly it is coming from. 

 

Drip. 

 

You become aware of a wet feeling on your hands. You suddenly realise, with a jolt of horror that somehow doesn’t quite make it through to your brain, that you can’t breathe. 

 

Drip.

 

You raise one trembling hand. The dark crimson blood stands out against your skin, and now you can feel the fear, the ever increasing sense of dread that spreads through your body almost as quickly as the pain did. 

 

Drip. 

 

Finally, you lower your head, to try and discover the source of the abnormal noise. 

There, sticking 10 inches out of your chest, is the blood stained point of an MT’s sword. It has ripped a hole from your collarbone to your navel and the blood, the noise you were hearing, is pouring out of you in a morbid stream, dripping onto your hand and forming a puddle on the floor. 

There is a shot, but you barely register it, even as it whooshes past your head to hit the MT infantryman behind you, the one whose sword is buried in your chest. As it falls, the sword is pulled out, slowly and causing you excruciating agony. You fall to your knees as it makes one last wet ‘schck’ sound, and leaves your body entirely. Without the sword acting as a dam, the blood begins to flow out of you in a way it wasn’t doing before, no longer a trickle and more like a gruesome crimson waterfall. Now, you can truly feel the searing pain of the wound, the coldness of the sword no longer preventing the burning sensation racing through you.

You try to scream, to shout, to say something, anything, but the breath catches in your throat, and again, it comes to your attention that you are unable to take a breath. The gasp of shock that you released upon being stabbed has been held, trapped within you, even with your right lung pierced right through. Any air you try to breathe simply escapes through the gaping hole in your chest and back. 

Involuntarily, you feel your body topple to the side. You have no strength left to stand, to even try to protect yourself as you fall. Before you can hit the ground, a pair of arms catch you, cradling you, pulling your jerking and gasping body into their lap. 

Your vision is becoming blurry, black spots from lack of oxygen beginning to appear, but you can still make out Prompto’s terrified face above you. His hand is shaking as it hovers over the wound, helpless to prevent the flow of blood. Choking for air, you reach with one bloodstained hand towards him. You aren’t sure why; your oxygen deprived brain feels like it has to reach out, to touch, if you can hold onto him then you can stay alive, you can keep a slippery grip onto consciousness. Perhaps it is meant to reassure him. You’ve never seen him look so scared, and you hate thinking that it is you, your carelessness, that has caused this. 

Again, you watch as his mouth moves without any of the words reaching your ears. You can tell that he is frantic, the words pouring out of his mouth without rhyme or reason. Calling for the others?

A rise of fear fills you, unlike anything that came before, as you come to the damning conclusion of your situation. They’ll pick Noctis over you if they haven’t done so already, they would use any potions on him rather than you. 

You are going to die here. You are going to bleed out in Prompto’s arms and they will mourn you but they will not save you over their Prince. 

Your shaking, weak hand finally reaches Prompto’s face, leaving a smear of blood as you try desperately to hold on to him, to hold onto consciousness. His hand is pressed to the wound in your chest, too small, far too useless to try and stem the flow. Under his hand is yours, scrabbling desperately, sticky with blood. 

You don’t want to die. You can’t die. You have to see Luna again, you have so much you have left unsaid, and you are terrified at the thought that you’ll never see her, never tell her… 

Your vision, to your horror, is growing darker. Unable to draw a breath, your own heart, pushed by adrenaline and fear, is pumping the life out of you. Your hand falls from Prompto’s face, and hits the ground with a dull thud. It has an air of finality about it; that hand will not leave the floor now, not whilst you are alive anyway. 

Your fingers slow their grasping movements, slow and then stop. 

Blackness overcomes your sight. The last thing you see is Prompto terrified eyes, the tears streaming down his cheeks, leaving blurry tracks in the bloodstains you left behind. 

Your heart gives one final thump, and falls still.

You’re cold. It’s so cold…

_ Not yet. _ A voice whispers.  _ You are not to enter my domain yet, my champion. It is not your time. Return, and change fate’s course.   _

As soon as the voice appears, it fades, and is replaced by a warm feeling that spreads though you, slowing at first, then faster, chasing away the ice in your veins. You can feel your limbs again, your fingers respond to your demands. Your mouth, left open as if in a silent scream, finally takes in a blessed breath of oxygen. As it does so, you can feel your lungs knit back together agonisingly slowly. Your whole wound does not heal; you can still feel a cut on both your chest and your back, several centimetres deep, but you no longer have a hole right through you, and none of your internal organs are damaged. 

You heave another great breath, fingers flying to the wound on your chest, pushing aside Prompto’s hands. In a panic, you roll yourself out of the arms holding you, pushing yourself away, backing up into the wall. All the adrenaline that never got to be used as you lay dying is rushing back in full force. Your heart rate is speeding up to dangerous levels, your breath, even though you can breathe now, become restricted again as you're desperately pant for air. Your fingers are still stained red, and the pain is still present; just looking down at the thin wound makes you flash to the gaping hole that it was moments before. 

You squeeze your eyes tight shut, but the darkness only serves to remind you of how close you were to be permanently endarkened. You recognise a panic attack when you have one, and this one, triggered in the worst possible way and at the worst possible time, is the worst you have ever had. 

Your breathing does not slow, and nether does your frantic gasps, but when you open your eyes, Ignis is in front of you. You hadn’t even registered his hand on your shoulders. When your eyes focus on his, he loops one arm under your shoulder, helping you to stand. Your body is shaky, your limbs feeling as limp as noodles, and your feet barely able to support yourself. You can’t speak to him; voicing your fear and panic or even an attempt to reassure him is too much for you in this moment. Even the feeling of his hands around you, near your wound, is almost too much, but you tolerate it because of your inability to move on your own. 

Gently, he helps you into the car, and the moment you are inside you hear Gladio start the engine. Ignis slides in beside you, bandages in hand. Prompto is in the front seat, face pale, and unusually quiet, staring down at his blood stained hands that are lying limp in his lap. You want to reach out, want to ask him if he is hurt; you want to know if anyone else is injured, if your family is hurt in any way that you do not know about, but the words stick in your throat.  You can’t speak. 

All you can do is slump into the seat in the Regalia, and glance over at Noctis. He’s breathing normally at least, but there is still that stain of blood running down the side of his face, matting his hair, stark against the paleness of his skin. The wound itself is shallow, but still there and you wonder why. No… They would have… they did…

Your thought process is interrupted by Ignis drawing your attention. 

“I need to wrap your wound.” He says quietly. With great caution, he helps you to remove your jacket and shirt; the blade itself sliced straight through your bra strap, so you hold it in place while Ignis cleans your wounds first, and then carefully wraps the pristine white bandages around the cuts in your back and chest. The methodological process allows time for your breathing to slow, until you no longer feel like something else is about to stab you. You still cannot speak, but after he has done, and wrapped you up again in your jacket, you lean your forehead onto his shoulder in way of thanks. 

“Swap places.” He says, after you pull away. “I must tend to Noct.”

Gingerly, to prevent aggravating your wound, you scootch over to the seat Ignis was in. Despite the speed Gladio is driving at, Ignis’s movements over to Noctis are smooth, and graceful. As he does so, he pulls out a pack of wet wipes, the same he used to clean your wound, and hands them to Prompto, who seems even more dazed now they are in his hands. 

“Use these to wash your hands.” He instructs. Slowly, Prompto does so, and you realise, with shock, that that is your blood. Your blood is on Prompto’s hands, and even when it does come off with ease, you can tell by the look on his face that he will not forget the way your blood looked on his hands. 

To your immense relief, you seem to have no pursuers on your drive back to the previous haven. You are barely conscious by the time you arrive back, the sun having just gone down as you pull up. You don’t know how much longer you can keep your eyes open; despite still living, you’ve pushed your body to it’s limits and the only recovery you can see now is through sleep. 

Gladio picks up Noctis first, and you watch from the car as he takes a potion from their emergency camp supply and crushes it over his still unconscious body. A small amount of the tension from Gladio’s shoulders is removed when the wound on Noctis’s head grows smaller and then vanishes, and now the blood had been washed off by Ignis, leaving no evidence that there was a wound there is the first place. Noctis, however, remains unconscious. Ignis moves over to the pair, while Prompto, who had been standing to the side, still looking to be in shock, starts suddenly, and comes to help you out of the car. By the time you have limped to the tent with Prompto’s help, Noctis has already been lain to rest in his sleeping bag. Prompto sets you down next to him, tensing every time you wince in pain. Before he leaves, you catch his hand. Exhaustion almost overtaking you, you whisper out a shaky “Thank you.” 

You are already asleep by the time he even tries to respond. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please, please don't give up on this fic! I'm still here, still reading all your comments and kudos, and seeing all of you who have subscribed- all 30 of you at last count! Thats amazing. 
> 
> Two things- Yes that is both a PJO reference and a Critical Role reference if anyone spots it! And two- if anyone has ever had a panic attack/sensory overload in which you felt like you can't speak- I feel ya buddy. I tried to put that feeling into this after I had a really scary one for the first time a few months back. So fuck you, panic attacks, I'm turning you into art! (if you can call this art, lol) 
> 
> Anyways
> 
> Thank you all for your faith and support, catch me over at actualenjolras1832.tumblr.com if you ever wanna come chat/send me asks/freak out about this fic. 
> 
> And as always, I will see you on Wednesday!


	9. (i wish i could take my time) And Show You That I'll Be Fine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> If there is something you and Noctis have always been terrible at, it's communication.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you guys so much for the support about the hiatus! Well, semi-hiatus. The change to a weekly to a bi-weekly update has been really beneficial to me, and I hope that the chapters I'll be getting out to you will be worth the wait. This is just a heads up, that yes the slower updates will continue, at least until the end of June. 
> 
> If anyone gets the title and is able to recognise the song without google, I will love you forever.

Waking up was excruciating. Even before you opened your eyes, you were aware of the dull ache still settled into every fibre of muscle, in the core of your bones. You could hear voices from outside, and filtered sunlight stung your still-closed eyes. It must be late in the day.

You attempt to open your eyes, and immediately the light hits them and makes them ache, even through the opaque material of the tent. You are alone, you notice, as you glance from side to side. You have been tucked carefully into your sleeping bag, the only neatness in a sea of discarded clothes and rumpled covers. Your top is ragged and bloodied; they hadn’t tried to undress you. You wouldn’t have minded if they had, it doesn’t bother you, but they weren't to know. Better to be careful

Be that as it may, you now feel horribly sticky and are seized with an urge to change out of your ruined clothes. Gingerly, you try to move your arms to push you into a sitting position. Even this small movement disturbs the cramps in your limbs and you give up with a small cry. 

This is, of course, when Prompto sticks his head into the tent to check up on you. Upon seeing you awake, he rushes over to brace you with one arm on your back. 

“I’m fine.” You say through gritted teeth. Still, you cannot stop you as he eases you into a sitting position. Instead of the pain you expected, you find only that the dull pain that seems to penetrate your very bones continue. 

“Careful.” Prompto advises, in a gentle voice. 

Face downcast as you realise you cannot do this on your own, due to stiffness in your limbs, you sigh. 

“Can you help me change?”

You don’t see his response with your face lowered, but he helps you to tug the ruined t-shirt over your head. 

It's the first time you see the extent of your injury, now that there isn’t copious amounts of blood obscuring it. It is closed, at least, skin held tightly together by magically regrown skin, pink against the dark red of the skin surrounding it, a very obvious, very thick line of raised white skin, puckered, an ugly marring scar against the relative smoothness of the rest of your chest. It runs all the way down from the base of your neck to the top of your waistline, both front and back. 

“It looks worse than it feels.” You joke, trying to lighten the mood, and more importantly, stop Prompto from staring at your wound with a rapidly paling face. 

Your hand is luckily within close range of his own as you gingerly pull on a grey shirt, and you squeeze it. This causes him to look up, his eyes ever so slightly blurry. 

“I’m fine.” You say. “Really. It just looks bad.” 

The pair of you button up your shirt, slowly regaining the dexterity of your fingers as you do so. 

“Where are the others?” You ask. 

“Just outside.” He replies. “Iggy’s made food.”

“And Noct?”

A flash of what could be interpreted as guilt flashes across his eyes, but it vanishes as soon as it appears. “He’s fine. The potion totally healed him up.” He attempts a smile, but it falls flat. This in itself hurts more than any wound. “Not even a scar.”

“Nice to see my sacrifice was worth it.” You mutter, swinging your arm around Prompto’s shoulders, ignoring how stiff they are. “C’mon. I’m hungry.”

Prompto obliges, sliding a hand around your waist to help you to stand, and together, you slowly make your way out of the tent. 

You can feel the eyes of the others immediately turn to you as you limp towards the circle of chairs and the low fire. Ignis watches from where he is keeping an eye on the dish on the stove, and Gladio stands as if to come to aid you, but you wave him away. It’s bad enough that you already need help to walk. Hopefully that will fade in time; at least the stiffness in your muscles is lessening with every step.  There is only one gaze missing. 

Noctis has his head bowed over the bowl of stew that Ignis has prepared for a meal; it’s not really breakfast, the height of the sun in the sky indicating that it is much more likely for the time to be around noon. He is very deliberately, very consciously, not watching your slow pace towards the chair nearest the fire. He’s so intent on avoiding eye contact that he even eats a carrot. 

You sit down thankfully, and even now, hours after you must have been given a dose, you can feel the effects of the curative that they must have given to you when you were asleep, the slight electric shocks of Noctis’s magic running through your veins. 

From the look of that scar, it did not seem that this wound would ever heal entirely. It was too deep an injury. 

“Here.” Ignis places a bowl in your hands; some kind of stew, as you had suspected, probably full of vegetable goodness that Ignis would insist upon you eating. 

“How are you feeling?” Gladio asks, setting himself down next to you. 

You decide to answer honestly. “Like someone tried to make a kebab out of me.”

Noctis flinches at this, but still doesn’t look up. As if on cue, Ignis says “You’d better eat up then.” 

“I will, Specs, give me a second.” You grumble, but you smile as you take a spoonful. You’re alive to hear Ignis’s nagging; that in itself is a miracle. 

Already you cannot stand the tension that has fallen over the group. You can feel even more healing magic rush through your body; Ignis is a sneaky bastard. You don’t mention it, but you can feel some of the ache begin to dissipate, but you can still feel the warped skin on your back and chest, and know that the scar isn’t going to be going away anytime soon. Against your will, you can feel the hot bubble of rage begin to rise up in your chest. You don’t want to be angry with Noctis, but- he hasn’t looked at you yet, he hadn’t even apologised for what had happened to you, hadn’t apologised for his mistake, for leading all of you into an ambush. 

Suddenly, you cannot stop yourself. Him just sitting there, avoiding your gaze, avoiding his  _ responsibility _ for your injury. If he hadn’t been so stupid, so foolhardy-

“Look at me, Noctis.” Your voice sounds detached from yourself, your anger pushing any dissenting voice to the back of your mind. “Look at me, look at what you did.” 

Prompto moves as you stand, tries to call your name, but you shake your head and push him back. “No, he needs to answer for his mistake.”

You walk forward, steps becoming stronger with anger. No one stops you, least of all the person you are mad at. Instead, his posture becomes as confrontational as your own, even when he still doesn’t meet your eyes. 

“What the fuck were you thinking? That was a fucking suicide mission and you knew it, what the fuck were you thinking?”

All of it, all the pain of the last few days, your own grief, the way his has manifested in reckless attacks that have put you all in danger, all of this has come out in possibly the worst way possible, and right now you don’t give a flying fuck.

“Is this some kind of game to you?”

Finally, he looks up at you, eyes blazing. You know you’ve said the one thing that will provoke a response. Good. 

“I was taking revenge for the loss of my kingdom!” He shouts petulantly. It sounds more like a practiced response than honesty in anger. 

You can’t grieve for a whole kingdom, even when you are a Prince. You can grieve for a King, but not to the extent that you’ll get yourself killed seeking revenge. 

But you can mourn for a home now lost. You can mourn for a father.

“Revenge?” You spit. “I almost died because of your fucking revenge? Look at what happened to me! I was almost cut in half with a sword that stuck inches out of me and I thought I was going to die.”

“You could die at any time!” Noctis shoots back. 

“Guys, please…” Prompto says weakly, but his pleas fall on deaf ears. 

“That isn’t the point!” You argue. “We’d all give our lives for you, gladly, but that doesn't mean that you get to play around with them without a care. I'd die for  _ you _ , not your fucking revenge. Grow the fuck up.”

Noctis stand now, moving closer into your space, flushed, angry face inches away from you, both of you breathing heavily with exertion. 

“My entire kingdom has been lost!” He shouts, angry tears forming. “My father-!”

Finally, some honesty. 

“Your father left my entire family to die.” You say, coldly. “I lost everything, my entire civilisation when I was ten. Years. Old.”

You shake your head, throwing him a disgusted look to disguise the resurging grief that comes from the single mention of your past. You feel a sick sense of satisfaction; now, after all these years, Noct finally knows what it feels like. Ignoring the shrill voice inside you, the one that sounds like Luna, the one begging you to stop, you continue your verbal assault. 

“I managed to cope. You're double that age, fucking grow up”

“Hey-!”

You cut him off, jabbing a finger in his direction. “No, you don't get it do you? You don't go throwing other people's lives away because you’ve lost people. We've all lost people! The moment we heard of your dad's death, Gladio knew that his dad was dead too! Six knows how many family members Ignis had lost! We don't even know if Prompto’s parents are still alive!”

Whatever you do, you do not look to see how your words affect the others. It’s one thing to know this, and the other to have them spat out in an angry argument, exposing your loss to the cold light of day. 

“You want revenge for the dead?” You continue. “That's fucking fine, so do I. But that doesn't mean you get everyone else dead along the way!”

“You think I enjoy having people die for me?” Noctis yells. “Do you think I like knowing that my dad sacrificed himself for me? Do you think I wanted this?!”

“No I don’t!” You retort. “No one wants this. But you’ve got it, so you are going to have to fucking deal with it like an adult. And they way you deal with it is not getting yourself and everyone around you killed in the process!”

Noctis shook his head, stepping back and ducking his head so that you can’t see that his eyes are red. 

“I don’t have to listen to this.” 

He turns and begins stalking off towards the woods. 

“Noct, don’t be stupid.” Gladio says, interjecting for the first time. “Anything could be out there!” He begins to move towards his charge, but something flashes in Noctis’s hand, and he suddenly has the Engine Blade pointed back in the direction of the group. 

“I can handle myself!” 

Gladio steps forward angrily, but Ignis places a hand on his arm. 

“Let him go.” He says quietly. 

“He could get hurt out there!” Gladio insists, the moment Noctis disappears into the trees. 

Ignis shoots you a look, as you plant yourself into Noctis’s vacated chair, fuming. “He was getting hurt here.” 

“Are you saying I was wrong?” You challenge. 

“I’m saying you could have handled that with a little less angry shouting and a lot less wild accusations.” He replied, exasperated. 

“They were true!” You insist, voice wavering just a little. 

Ignis hums non-committedly. “To an extent.” 

“Everyone was just angry and said things they didn’t mean.” Prompto says, pleadingly. “That’s all, right?”

He tries to meet your gaze, but you turn your face away, fists clenching. 

“He’s going to get us all killed.” You growl. 

“I think you need to show a little more faith in your King.” Gladio retorts. 

“He’s not my King!” You shout. “He’s my friend!” 

“He’s both!”

You get to your feet again, beginning to square off against Gladio. “Not to me!”

“Guys, no!” Prompto’s hands outstretched in opposite directions as he stands between you, insistently diffusing the fight.  “Fighting each other isn’t the answer.” 

The pair of you reluctantly pull away, though Gladio remains standing while you sink back into the chair. 

“If he gets us all killed-” You begin

“He won’t.” Ignis interrupts. “ _ We _ will get ourselves killed, though I hope that day never comes.”

At your dissenting look, he continues. “We are all adults, are we not? We all chose to be here, in one way or another. If any of us die in the line of fire, it will be our fault, not Noctis’s.”

You shake your head. “You never had a choice, I never had a choice, the only person who truly chose to be here is Prompto.”

“You’re lying to yourself if you believe that.” Gladio says. “We may have a duty, but none of us take this duty lightly. Any one of us could have stepped out of this, at any time. You could have left the Citadel and never looked back. I could have requested to be moved to the Crownsguard, let Iris take over for me. Ignis could have turned around the moment they met. But we didn’t.”

“Because you have a duty-” You try to say. 

“Because we  _ chose  _ this duty.” Ignis says. “Of any of us, the only person who cannot choose his duty is Noctis.”

For a moment, the only sound is breathing, as each of you avoid looking at each other. 

“I don’t want to die for a foreign King.” You say quietly, breaking the moment. “I don’t want to die at all. But I am more than willing to die if it means saving my  _ brother. _ If it means saving any of you _. _ ” You look up, meeting each of their eyes in turn. “But I will not die in some backwater suicide mission because Noct is too angry to plan properly.”

Ignis nods approvingly. “Well said.” He gives you a knowing smile. “Perhaps you should tell him that, instead of shouting at him.”

You sigh. You know he’s right, but you don’t want to admit it. “I probably should apologise, shouldn’t I?”

“That would be wise.” Ignis says. “But give it some time. You’ve only just calmed down, and no doubt he is still angry.”

Guilt begins to curdle sluggishly in the base of your stomach, filling the space where hot anger had been a second ago. You had really fucked up. To try and distract yourself, you returned your attention to the stew in your lap, now lukewarm. It didn’t seem nearly as appealing as it had two conversations ago. Still, this was another battle and you would need as much strength as you could. Plus, any reason to delay the conversation any longer than the others would allow was good enough for you. 

* * *

You found Noctis by the edge of a large lake, bait and tackle out, with a couple of small fish already beside him, laid out ready to take back for tonight’s dinner. 

You remain silent as you take a seat on the jetty beside him, and he does not make any obvious movement to acknowledge your presence. 

The sky is a deep blue, white fluffy clouds trailing lazily across it in a picture perfect view. You were so close to never seeing this sky again. The wind is warm as it playfully ruffles through your hair, the sound of the rustling leaves the only sound that either of you hear for a while. The surface of the lake, clear and still, displays your reflections with all proud clarity of one of Prompto’s photographs. 

The lake shows you the last King of Lucis and the lost Handmaiden of Lady Lunafreya, but all you see are two lost kids, two people who have lost everything but are somehow still standing. With the raised scar on your chest, that observation is more poignant than ever. 

“I’m sorry.” You say at last. “I was brash and unkind and I shouldn’t have said what I did.” 

“Don’t be.” Noctis replies shortly. “You were right. I put us all in danger. I was angry and reckless and should have done better.” 

The words sound rehearsed, scripted as if he too has been running over the right response for hours since the argument. 

“Noct.” You say quietly. “You’re allowed to grieve. You’re allowed to make mistakes. Because we’ll always be here to help you fix them.” 

Reaching with your arms, ever so hesitant, you lean over, and wrap your arms around his frozen form. After a moment of hugging a statue, he caves, burying his head into your shoulder, while his hands grip onto the back of your jacket. After a moment, he begins to shake, though he makes no noise. 

“Y-you almost died.” He sobs. You think about how the world went dark and cold, just for a second, and the voice you heard, though you now cannot remember the words that were spoken to you. You recall the rush in your veins, the one you do not know whether it was from a potion or from something… else. 

“I didn’t.” You murmur back “I’m fine, I will be fine, and it wasn’t your fault. Never your fault.”

Tangling your fingers in his hear, you whisper small comforts, reassurances, and you hold him while he lets every swallowed back sob, every hastily brushed away tear, soak into your shoulder. No one had been there when you had lost everything, and by the Six, if you were going to let the same thing happen to your brother, you would never forgive yourself. 

“I’m here.” You whisper, as his shuddering slowly stops, though he remains in your embrace. “I’m here, and I won’t let anything happen to you. I won’t let them take anything else from you. We’re going to find Luna. We’re going to save the crystal. And then we are going to take back the kingdom. Both yours and mine. And no one,” You pull away, cupping his face with your hands, brushing the remaining tears from blotchy cheeks, gazing straight into his red-rimmed eyes. “Is going to die.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HAHAHAHA I LOVE IRONY. 
> 
> As always, my tumblr is actualenjolras1832, I have a twitter now, @MJDashwood, so if you want to follow them, please do. If you enjoyed, please comment and leave kudos, I feed on them! 
> 
> As always, I'll see all you lovely people on Wednesday.


	10. (i woke up on) The Wrong Side Of Reality

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes, it's hard to tell what is real.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know the format is a little fucked up, but honestly, I'm so exhausted and I'm sick of looking at this chapter anymore so here it is. 
> 
> Thank you so much for all your kind comments and kudos, it really means a lot, and keeps me spurrned on to write even as my workload gets ever heavier.

_The corridor was dark and cold. You could feel the icy air permeating your clothes, the freezing feeling seemingly rolling off the walls as you ran past them. In the darkness, the corridor seemed never ending. The only source of light was the reflection of your torch off the metal pipes that ran over your head._

_Even in the darkness, and even in the cold, you only had one objective, one singular thought._

_You had to find him._

_Behind you, you hear familiar steps. Noctis is at your back, protecting you from anything that might be following you. Seeing as the pair of you have infiltrated an imperial base, it’s quite likely that you are being pursued._

_Get him. Get out. Nothing else mattered._

_Your heart seemed to keep pace with your feet as you ran forward, through a pair of double doors that clang ominously behind you; Noctis had fallen behind, perhaps to scout the area, and you blink in the sudden light streaming through the high windows._

_The light casts a shadow across the room; it's not large, perhaps only twenty feet wide but it is tall, and there are windows that are letting in a ghostly light. Somehow, even in here, the sunlight has been corrupted, warped in whatever glass it is streaming through. Refracted through an Imperial lense, something pure is warped without reason. Perhaps only half of the room is illuminated by the dim light; the rest is cloaked in shadow._

_And there, standing as if he has been carved from marble itself, head bowed, half of his body bathed in the Imperial light, and the other half practically invisible in the curling shadow._

_“Prompto!” You shout, and begin to run again from where you skidded to a halt in shock in the doorway._

  _Even when up close, you couldn’t make out the right hand side of his face. It seemed wrong, to have him shadowed in darkness so. There was a scar across the bridge of his nose, but you couldn’t see how far it stretched into his right cheek. Otherwise, he appeared unharmed._

_“Noctis!” You call over your shoulder. “Noct, I found him!”_

_Turning back to face Prompto, you were surprised to see there had been no response. Still, he stood there, face blank, head drooping and eyes, as far as your could see, closed._

_“Hey.” You say, catching his limp hand in an attempt to grab his attention. “We came for you, see, Noctis and I, we came to save you.”_

_You search his face for a sign, any sign. If you couldn’t feel the slow pulse in his wrist, or see the slow rise and fall of his chest, you might have thought he was dead. As it was, it seemed like he was asleep standing up. You lifted a hand, and cupped his left cheek in your palm. His face is cold, icy cold. There is no warm flush of life, his freckles are white against his skin. It's like holding marble, or perhaps metal._

_“Prompto?” You say, quieter, a note of pleading slipping into your tone. “Prompto, look at me.”_

_Nothing. Not even a flicker._

_“Prompto, please look at me.” You can feel a tight ball of fear begin to form in your stomach as the moments drag and there is no response. “Prompto, please, you’re scaring me.”_

_The door behind you bangs open, startling you._

_“Prompto!” Noctis cries as he stumbles into the room, then stopping short a few metres away from you as he takes in the fearful expression on your face._

_“What-”_

_“Something’s wrong.” You say, glancing once back at Noctis before turning back to the unresponsive blond in front of you. “He isn’t responding, he hasn’t said anything, c’mon, Prompto, please, it’s us, please.”_

_His other arm, the one that up until now had been hidden in darkness, begins to move. Relieved at some kind of response, though there is still no expression on his face, you gently stroke his cheek, fighting to keep your voice steady._

_“That’s it, that’s it, c’mon, come back to us, come into the light, come on, Prompto.”_

_You are so close to him now, you can see his eyes beginning to move under his closed eyelids._

_“Just open your eyes and look at me Prompto, I’m here, it’s me, you're safe, and everything is going to be-”_

_Prompto steps forward, into the light, and his hand suddenly clenches around your wrist to stop you taking an involuntary, horrified, step back._

_Noctis’s cry of warning is drowned out by a muffled noise of a gunshot. Transfixed on Prompto’s face- gods, why did you ask him to step into the light, in the dark you could have pretended, you never would have seen, oh gods, oh gods Prompto, what have they done to you?- You never even noticed the Imperial issued gun in his shadowed hand, coming up to press into your stomach._

_Now into the light, Prompto’s face is clear, his eyes open, and his features are so far from being warmly recognisable that if you hadn’t seen him before you would doubt that it was the same person._

_The first thing to notice are his eyes; no longer their deep beautiful blue, it seems as if the colour has been violently purged in favor of a horrific, blood red. The right side of his face, previously hidden, is mangled beyond recognition, not a mess of scars, but a tangle of wires and torn skin with no blood, as if the thin layer had only been covering the circuits underneath. Dried tear stains trail paths down his dirtied face._

_This can't… it can't be him; he is flesh and blood, he's not_ this.

_His grip is like a vice on your arm, and is the only thing preventing you from entirely crumpling to the ground in pain, the bullet hole in your stomach slowly sapping the strength from your legs._

_“Prompto…” You whisper, and finally, finally, his gaze turns to you. There is no recognition in them, only a burning accusation which you can’t shake, even as you desperately search for something, anything. For a second, you think you see something, a flicker of blue in the red, but he twists you around suddenly, and the gunshot wound in your stomach makes itself known. The shock of the pain allows him to violently force you to your knees so that you are facing Noctis, and for the first time you can see his horrified face, hand still outstretched towards you in an aborted warning._

_Hand tangled in your hair, Prompto pulls your head up, and you feel the cold metal of a gun barrel press against the back of your neck._

_“Prompto.” You whimper, reaching with one bloody hand in an attempt to grab his hand, his arm, anything that might bring him back. “Prompto, please.”_

_“Let her go.” Noctis orders, voice remarkably steady as a gun materialises in his hand. It’s Prompto’s old gun, you recognise the markings. “Whatever you are, you aren’t him.”_

_He aims the gun straight at the pair of you, but even from this distance, you can tell his hand is shaking._

_“This is just a trick.” He insists. “Let her go, and take us to Prompto!”_

_The gun presses harder into your neck and you tense, halting your attempts to pull out of his grip. However, that is not what causes you to freeze, and if possible, for even more icy horror to seep into your veins._

_“Noct…” The voice is small, broken beyond repair, and gods, you know that Noctis is wrong, he’s so wrong. “Noct, please…”_

_The gun in Noctis hand drops ever so slightly, and he shakes his head._

_“No, no, you can’t be him, you_ can’t-”

_You finally manage to curl your hand around his wrist, the one holding the gun against your head. He’s shaking under your grasp._

_“Prompto.” You choke out. “Prompto, you’re here, you’re still in there, I know you are, come on, come back to us.”_

_Prompto’s answer is halting, stuttering, a contrast to the solid grip in your hair that is keeping you from slumping to the floor._

_“I-I c-can’t, Noct, please…”_

_The gun presses harder into your neck._

_“I don’t want to hurt her, Noct, don’t let me hurt her-”_

_“Just put the gun down.” Noctis says, voice unsteady, but his aim is true, both hands gripping the gun to stop it shaking. “Fight it, and put it down.”_

_“I can’t stop it.” Prompto whimpers. “I can’t fight anymore.”_

_“Yes, you can!” You insist. “You're the strongest person I know, you’ve held on this long, please, just fight a little more. Then it’ll be over.”_

_“Get it over with.” Prompto repeats, quiet and submissive. “Just… put an end to me. Kill me. Please.”_

_“No!” You shout, though whether you are directing it to Noctis or Prompto you do not know. “We came all this way to find you, we came here to save you, I won’t let you just give up!”_

_“I’ll kill her.” Prompto sobs “I can’t… please.”_

_In a daze of pain, and the horror of what they have done to Prompto, your brain provides you with the only, what is in your mind, logical choice._

_“Kill me” You croak out. “Noctis, kill me.”_

_He recoils in shock, and Prompto lets out another choked sob. “No!”_

_“It’s him or me.” You say. “I’m already dying, I’ll slow your escape. We came for Prompto, and you’re going to leave with him.”_

_“Please.” Prompto moans above you, and you wince as the grip in your hair tightens. “Please, no.”_

_“I don’t want him to kill me.” You say. “Please, I don’t want to die at his hand.”_

_“And mine?” Noctis retorts, eyes wide and desperate. “You can’t ask me to do this!”_

_“I’m not asking.” You reply, trying to to school your features. “I’m begging. Please. Take him and run. Put me out of my misery and let me die knowing he is safe.”_

_“Noct…” You cannot see Prompto’s face, but you can imagine it; tearstained, desperation etched into a face that should never have to feel anything but happiness. Will his red eyes be as persuasive as his normal blue ones? “Noct, please…” You’ve never heard his voice so small, so wretched. A desperate plea, hoping that he will listen._

_With shaking hands, Noctis raises the gun._

_“It’s okay, Noct.” You say. “It’s alright. You’re going to get out of here. You’re going to save him for me. Everything will be alright.”_

_He cannot look you in the eye, so you close them. A small mercy, not having to stare you down as he kills you._

_“I’m sorry.” He says, voice breaking. “I’m so sorry.”_

_“It’s alright.” You repeat, but your own voice cracks, breaths hitching as time seems to stretch innumerably, the beats of your heart growing ever stronger, as if they know their time is coming to an end, and are determined to do their best to keep you going regardless._

_Your mind may have given up, but your body certainly has not, even as you bleed out onto the floor._

_“Do it.” You whisper, hand tightening around Prompto’s wrist. For him. You don’t mind dying for him. All you have is the hope that your death will break the programming, allow Noctis to get Prompto out. All you’ve ever had is hope. “Get it over with.”_

_“I’m sorry.” Noctis says one final time, and he squeezes the trigger._

_You flinch at the shot echoes out, deafeningly loud in the space of the metal lined room. Noctis has barely handled firearms before, but you know his aim will be true._

_You know it, but you do not feel it. Strange, you didn’t know dying would be so painless._

_There is pain certainly, but from the previous wound, not from any new shot. The grip in your hair loosens, the cold barrel of the gun is removed._

_You open your eyes. Noctis is standing in front of you, gun smoking, a heartbroken look on his face. In the pain, and panic of your mind, you do not realise why immediately._

_You turn your body just in time to watch, helpless, as Prompto’s body falls in a slow arc, crumpling to the ground with a sickening finality, too still, far too still, and despite your wound you are scrambling over to reach him, to pull his body into your lap, running shaking fingers over his cold face. That means nothing, he was cold before, and all you had to do was warm him up, that was simple, he just had to wake up first._

_Aware of the quiet, broken whimpers that are escaping from your lips, you press his cold forehead to yours._

_“Wake up, please, c’mon, wake up sweetheart, open your eyes, I know you can, c’mon baby please…”_

_Your frantic, shaking fingers find the small bullet hole in his stomach, and you release a low moan._

_“No…” Sticky fingers, palms slick with blood, and this is now the only warm part of him, the hot crimson leaking from him slowly but surely, dripping down your legs. “No, no please…”_

_“I’m sorry.” Noctis says, and his voice cracks. “I’m so sorry.”_

_There is a dull thunk, and you know Noctis has dropped the gun to the floor._

_Stupid. Dropping the gun doesn’t absolve him of anything._

_He did this. He killed him._

_He didn’t even give him a chance._

_With a scream of; well, you aren’t quite sure; it could be rage, grief, pain, pure animalistic terror, but it was directed at Noctis, and you get a flash of his face, tears trailing down his cheeks, before you grab the gun off the floor and aim it at him._

_“Why?” Your voice is choked, brittle and liable to break, a mere shadow of its former self. “_ Why _?”_

_His faces twists, and for a split second, you see your own heartbroken grief mirrored there, before he shuts off, the practiced blank expression falling like a veil over his features. Noct is obscured, but Noctis the Prince stands before you._

_You don’t know who is was that fired the shot; the King, or your brother. You don’t know which is worse._

_“You killed him.” You spit, and if the venom in your voice was real, then Noct would have been dead before the end of the first word. “It should have been me, IT SHOULD HAVE BEEN ME!”_

_The gun in your hand shakes with the force of your wretched scream, and the weapon is lowered along with your head, as you cannot bear to look at him again._

_“I’m sorry.” He repeats again, flat, emotionless. “We have to go. Leave that thing behind.”_

_“I’m not leaving him.” You say, and raise the gun, staring at him down the barrel, an unspoken threat._

_“He’s dead.”_

_The words ring around the room, echoing, accusatory. Your finger tightens on the trigger, tears and pain blurring your vision. “I’m not leaving him!”_

_“Then kill me.” Noctis says. “You’re already holding the gun. I killed him. Why wait?”_

_A second passes. The two of you, siblings, weapons drawn, united in grief but never so divided, stare each other down. It’s wrong. It’s so, so wrong._

_In your lap, Prompto lies cold, eyes wide, thankfully ignorant to the division his death caused._

_He’s dead. He’s dead. You’re never going to see him again._

_All of this was for nothing._

_“This is your fault.” You say. “This is all your fault!”_

_“I know.” Noctis almost sounds bored now; like everything that made him care, everything that made him human has shut off inside him leaving only the shadow of a monarch. “End it, then. Bring justice for that_ thing _. But if you really don’t want to leave it, stay behind.”_

_His words shock you, and you only stumble for a moment as he turns and walks away, head bowed._

_“Come back!” You shout. “Pay for what you’ve done, you coward! COME BACK!”_

_Noctis does not turn, does not even look at you even as you scream obscenities at his retreating back._

_You don’t think. That was the mistake, the mistake of this whole endeavor. You don’t think._

_You scream, wrath incarnate, and you pull the trigger._

_Just before the door, hand outstretched to grab the handle, Noctis crumples. The last King of Lucis, felled by his sister over the murder of the boy they both loved._

_You cannot stand to look at him, throwing the gun at his still body like it is made of hot iron, and bend low over Prompto, clutching at the lapels of his ruined clothes. Sobbing into his still chest, you can feel your strength begin to fail. It won’t be long now._

_“I’m coming, baby.” You whisper, tracing his face with a shaking, bloody hand. “I’ll be there soon, I promise.”_

_You are crying so hard, and so loud, that you don’t hear the light pad of footsteps behind you, and do not notice the low voice speaking by your ear._

_You do feel the blade at your throat, the sharp pain of a thin line being cut deep into your skin. You choke on blood, scrabbling to stop the horrific spray with insufficient fingers, and twist yourself around to face your attacker._

_The floor by the door has been vacated, Noctis’s body gone. In the distance, you can hear a voice, several voices, rushing towards your location and-_

 

  * “Wake up, it’s just a nightmare, wake-!”



 

_-That’s right, you had gone on ahead to scout the area, you had left the others behind to check the other parts of the facility and-_

_-Noct had been with you, hadn’t he?_

 

  * __“I’ll come with you.”__


  * _“No, don’t worry, I’ll be fine alone. It’s just to check out the area, then I’ll be right back.”_


  * _“Alright. See you later.”_


  * _“See ya later, Noct!”_



 

_Noct, or the Noct that had been following you, the one that had tricked you, sneers down at you._

_“You put on a rather marvelous show.” He says, as you gurgle helplessly. “I think our Prince enjoyed it. A wonderful liveshow.”_

_The image shimmers and it’s not longer Noct, it’s-_

_“Though, it’s a shame the feed was a little delayed. He still thinks he has a chance to save you both.”_

_“No…” you gasp. It’s the only word that you can form, and even then it is barely a word, more of a hissing whisper, the air escaping through your now open windpipe. You topple backwards, landing on the ground with the same dull thunk that the gun did. He leans down, and tilts your head so that you are facing both the door, and in the way was Prompto’s blank face, now splattered with your blood._

_“Let it not be said that I did not show you kindness.” He says. “I let you see the face of the ones you love the most in your last moment.”_

_As your vision fades, and your hands limply fall to the floor, the door bursts open. Noctis, alive, terrified, but not a murderer, leads the other two._

_He shouts something, a name, but whether it is yours, Prompto’s or the man standing behind you, you can no longer hear._

_You open your mouth to scream, and-_

-You’re jolting awake, the scream in your throat strangled in fear, eyes wide, and for a second, you have no idea where you are. All you know is that it is dark, you can still feel the pain of the gunshot in your stomach and the knife in your neck, and something is pinning you down. Your instincts take over, and your hatchet materialises in your hand, pressing against the throat of the person in front of you.

The light of the materialisation lights up your surroundings, and the pale, terrified face of the person you are very close to injuring.

“P-Prompto?”

His face is wide and terrified, and it only when he opens his mouth to speak that the exhaustion of what you have just dreamt catches up to you. The weapon tumbles out of your hands and hits the ground with a dull thunk.

You try not to think of how similar it sounds to what you just heard in your dream.

He says your name, but you do not hear him, blood rushing in your ears and the sights and sounds catch up with you.

With no regard for the state of your undress, you run, throwing the covers aside, and leaving the flag waving in your wake.

Crouched down by the edge of the smouldering campfire, you desperately try to control your breathing. Everything is dizzy, the world seems to blur in front of you, yet you cannot close your eyes. If you do, all you can see is Prompto’s torn face, his dead eyes, the smirk on Noctis’s face as he slit your throat.

There is a hand at your back. A face in front of yours. Soft words you can’t understand.

Eventually, the hand leaves. Minutes pass. You breathe. You collect yourself.

He’s alive. He’s _alive._

By the time your vision comes into focus, a mug is being handed to you, a blanket is draped around your shoulders, and Prompto is rambling quietly in your ear.

“I always like to use the longer lenses for the night shots, they can pick up so much more of the sky, you know? But the lenses Noct brought me, those were are the best for portraits. They always get the balance of light and background right. Of course, that's not just the lenses, that takes skill, but the lenses help a lot, Cindy looked beautiful in the last photo she let me take, like a golden goddess. Noct’s good in photos too, he always stands out well against anything, with his hair and everything-”

“Prompto?” You say quietly, not wishing to interrupt his flow, but also wanting to make your presence known.

“Hey.” He says, hand immediately placed on your arm. “You feeling alright?”

You shake your head once, then reconsider. You are outside, you are with Prompto. You have a mug of hot chocolate in your hands, steam curling off the top and into the expanse of the sky above.

You shrug instead.

“Was it a nightmare?” He asks.

You nod, unintentionally drawing in on yourself.

“You don’t have to talk about it.” Prompto stretches out next to you, face tilted towards the sky. “But I’m here if you want to, dude. That’s what I’m here _for._ He has his advisor, and his bodyguards. I’m his royal highnesses confidant in chief.”

“I thought that was my job.” You chuckle.

“Eh.” He says, flashing you a grin. “We can share.”

“I don’t think Noct has many secrets.” You say. “If he has, he’s not very good at keeping them.”

“Yeah, well, that’s what Ignis is for. Have you seen him on birthdays? More tight lipped than any spy. Godsdamn Fort Knox in a person.”

You laugh quietly, and there is a momentary lull in conversation.

“Prompto?” You say after a while. “Thanks.”

“No problem.” He replies easily. “Really, it’s no problem. I’ve always got time for you.”

You raise an eyebrow in his direction, and he flushes pink. “Like I would do for _everyone!_ Geez, there’s no need to be weird about it!”

“Seriously though, thanks.” You say, after laughing. “It… it means a lot. After that nightmare, I…”

“It did look horrible.” Prompto admits, hesitantly. “You were thrashing around in your sleep for a minute before you woke up. And you were.... Mumbling things.”

You try not to think about the kind of things you would have been muttering, and push on with what you want to say. After everything, after that, it seems more important than ever.

“It kind of… reminded me. Of how fucking dangerous it is for us.”

“If being nearly skewered like a hog roast wasn’t enough of a wake up call.” Prompto’s voice is light, but there is a serious undertone to it. Evidently, your near death had worried him. As if if that had ever been in doubt, but more in that he hadn’t been able to shrug it off as quickly as you or the others had.

“I don’t know.” You say. “I guess, but this felt… more real. I know that’s stupid but it really shook me up. More than that did.”

Maybe it was seeing him die as well. You thought, but did not voice. Prompto didn’t need to know that.

“It scared me.” You admit. “Because if I had died… I would have left so many things unsaid. I’m scared of the things left unsaid. Because I’m too cowardly, or too selfish. Hell, even because I’m too _selfless.”_

You don’t look at Prompto, but his tone is pensive when he finally speaks.

“I wouldn’t know about what you have and haven’t said.” He speaks carefully, strangely. Prompto very rarely considers his words so thoughtfully, preferring to stumble along in his endearing manner, long winded and searching for a point, but ultimately more heartfelt than the carefully planned sentences of diplomats, or the calm speeches of kings. “But I do know that you can always come to us. Any of us. If you need to. We’re a _team_.”

“Yes.” You agree, a smile finally flitting over your face. “Yeah, we are.”

As you look over to Prompto, the light of the fire dancing across his face as he tilts his head up towards the sky, his portrait shadowed by the expanse of stars above your heads. In the half light, the shadows make his face more angular, the freckles you know so well constellations across his face. And yet, it seems that he himself is alight, shining with warmth, and all of this is reflected when he turns to smile at you, his eyes beautiful in the firelight, his hair an adorable mess.  Prompto’s expression is wistful as he once again goes to stare at the stars, and you are struck with how this boy can find beauty in everything, can bring the light to the darkness as surely as there are stars in the sky. In this moment, he looks like your own sunshine, bringing relief to the horrors of your nighttime simply by _being_. It is only now that you are aware of how close you two are, arms lightly touching.

This touch sends a blush up your arm, but you cannot fathom why. It’s Prompto. You would say it’s just Prompto, but Prompto isn’t just anything.

You don’t want to think about it anymore, because thinking about it is causing a warm bubbling feeling to spread across your body, and honestly, after tonight, you have enough of strange feelings.

Instead, you lean your head on his shoulder, he puts a (ever so slightly hesitant) arm around your shoulder, and there you stay, gazing up at the stars, relishing in the warmth of Prompto’s touch, trying to forget the cold metal from your dream.

  
That could never be Prompto. Never.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I changed my tumblr URL, I am now marianne-dash-wood.tumblr.com, please come talk to me on there and I will love you forever. 
> 
> Please leave a comment if you enjoyed, I adore hearing from you all. 
> 
> As always, I will see you with the next chapter on Wednesday!

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading! Please leave kudos or a comment if you enjoyed, or even better, check out my blog at marianne-dash-wood.tumblr.com


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